


Monsters Under The Bed

by theescapist99



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, anyway typical gradence set up, at least eventually, but he loves his little orphan boy, credence is living with graves, credence is still a nervous wreck, even if credence starts going a little psycho, i dont think so at least, ill update the tags as i go along anyway, more on that later, oh and also credence and grindelgraves may have had kind of a relationship, original percival graves has boundary issues, original percival graves is kind of a jerk, planning to use the obscurus as a plot device a lot in this one, post movies, sort of, this ones not going to be that dark, updated tag: and theres some vague sexual harassment by a macusa employee, updated tag: animal death mention, updated tag: but hey it has a happy ending at least, updated tag: dead child mention, updated tag: okay so credence gets drugged at one point, waywardgraves knows whats up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 29,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: He had honestly thought Credence was using it as an excuse to snuggle with him.“I hear something under the bed.”Credence had come to his bedroom on a chilly August evening, his eyes wide with childlike fright.





	1. In The Dark

He had honestly thought Credence was using it as an excuse to snuggle with him.

“I hear something under the bed.”

Credence had come to his bedroom on a chilly August evening, his eyes wide with childlike fright.

Of course, Percival had gone to investigate. He had already been awake to begin with, reading a novel and drinking whiskey, as anyone who knew Percival would expect to find him.

“There’s nothing there, Credence.” Percival had informed him after a thorough search underneath the guest bed, “What did you hear, exactly?”

“Whispering,” Credence had frowned, his eyes downcast. “I thought I heard someone whispering.”

For Credence’s sake, Percival crouched down again to look beneath the beddings. By the light of his wand, all he could see was a barren wooden floor populated by no one but dust bunnies and the occasional cobweb.

“Looks empty to me,” Percival shrugged when he came back up, but he could tell he did not convince the boy -- he still looked more fearful than he typically did, and for Credence Barebone that was saying something.

Percival sighed, “Would you like to stay in my room for the rest of the night…just to be sure?”

Right away, Credence nodded.

Percival almost chuckled at his eagerness, something he rarely ever saw the boy display. He motioned for Credence to follow him with a lazy wave of his hand, and they closed the door behind them.

“I only have the one bed,” Percival explained when they had reached the master bedroom. “I suppose I could stay on the floor if you really need me to, but if you wouldn’t mind, there is a couch in the next room over I could crash on. I’ll be just a few feet away, even then. “

And sheepishly, Credence had muttered, “Couldn’t you stay in the bed _with_ me, Mr. Graves?”

Percival quirked an eyebrow, “My boy, that hardly seems appropriate.”

“We—well,” Credence stammered, his eyes wandering every which way but never meeting Percival’s own, “It’s just… you have before. It helped.”

“ _Oh_.” Percival said, trying not to grimace.

It had been a long month of Percival learning of just how many things he had already done with Credence Barebone.

And by _he_ , of course, Percival meant his imposter:  Gellert Grindelwald wearing the costume of his own skin and flesh.

He did remember Credence from before his time in captivity, but he hadn’t known the boy very well. Sure, he had handed him an old scarf or a pair of gloves now and then – but they were gestures of pure charity. He had treated his sisters – and many of the poor children of New York – just the same.

One epic show down with Grindelwald, three months of imprisonment, and one month of rehabilitation later, and _apparently_ Percival had not only gotten to know Credence Barebone -- he had been intimate with the boy in ways that Percival had not been with anyone in ages.

He still wasn’t aware of the full extent of it.

Honestly, he didn’t know that he ever really _wanted_ to be.

Percival already had a hard enough time discerning if it was truly himself that Credence seemed to be so attached to.

He sighed, “I suppose, if you think that’s best…”

Credence didn’t smile, but his shoulders seemed to relax a little, “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Uh huh.”

Simultaneously, Credence and Percival laid themselves on opposite ends of the queen sized mattress. It was big enough so that they both had some amount of space to move around, but Percival still tried to confine himself to the outermost edge. His right foot nearly dangled off.

It had been so long since he had shared a bed with anyone.

Percival would bet money it hadn’t happened since some drunken, Ilvermony evening. And yet here he was, sharing a bed with a fully grown young man who was by many means a stranger.

God, this was inappropriate.

Why was he doing this?

Tina had been the one who insisted he let the boy stay with him.

 _“He really responds to you, Mr. Graves,”_ Percival could remember her whiny plea, _“Please? C’mon, you owe us. If it hadn’t been for us, you would still be in Grindelwald’s captivity.”_

 _Or maybe,_ Percival thought bitterly, _if you had maybe noticed something was up after I fucking sentenced you to death, half of New York wouldn’t have needed to be obliviated._

Percival rejoined his grip with the whiskey glass still on his side table, and he took a hearty sip.

Beside him, he could feel Credence stirring. Although his eyes were still closed in a bid for sleep, he had -- unconsciously or not -- already inched closer to Percival.

Percival contemplated leaving once the boy had fallen asleep. Unfortunately, Credence appeared to be a light sleeper, so he knew the boy was likely to notice.

 Still, sharing a bed was really a bit much for Percival’s tastes, and he was already having regrets on his consent of the situation.

Unconsciously or not, Credence’s hand reached out and landed lightly on Percival’s own.

Inside his chest, Percival felt an odd burning sensation. He closed his own eyes, fighting the urge to yank the hand away and leave the room -- possibly the house.

Yet at the same time, something about the gesture compelled him to stay.

 Surrendering, Percival finally laid down completely. He didn’t give much thought to the way he was careful not to jostle the hand that Credence had placed on him.

As Percival drifted off to sleep a few minutes later, he only partially registered the fact that he had -- unconsciously or not -- inched closer to the boy as well.

 

* * *

 

“I hear the whispering again.” Credence had told him two nights later.

“Well tell whoever it is to fuck off.” Percival mumbled, his eyes not leaving his book.

“Mr. Graves…” Credence fucking practically _whimpered_ and Percival looked over at him, ready to tell the boy that he needed to fuck off as well while he was at it. He had had a particularly long day at work, and he was really in no mood.  But of course the second he set his eyes on him -- the trembling, meek, damaged thing at his bedroom door – Percival caved.

Letting out a low groan, Percival closed his book.

He waved Credence over, “Come on, then.”

Looking visibly relieved, Credence shuffled over with the gait of someone much older than his stated age. Percival was about to ask that he at least try not to sleep so close to him this time, but the boy skipped whatever pretense there may have been. He was only half way under the covers before he was latched onto Percival’s arm like a magnet to metal.

At the contact, that odd burning sensation fluttered back into life. Percival swallowed hard, his mind already working to find ways to rationalize this.

_He wants Grindelwald, not me._

_I’m just the closest he can get to the bastard._

Tomorrow, Percival mentally noted, he really ought to talk to Credence about this whispering he’s been claiming to hear.

* * *

 

And then it seemed that Credence stopped hearing said whispering.

Or, at least, Credence had stopped coming to Percival about it.

Which was all well and fine, Percival insisted to himself. It was great, actually.

Percival hadn’t had to do or say anything, and the problem had resolved itself. What a relief. He was in no way equipped to have this kind of conversation anyway. Had it continued to be an issue, he might have had to find Credence some kind of psychiatrist. But Percival was absolutely relieved that the problem seemed to be over.

It’s not like he missed the warmth of Credence lying down beside him or anything.

 _No way_ \-- that didn’t cross his mind at all.

Percival walked the main hallway of his own brownstone seven past midnight. In his hand, he held a cup of warm brandy that he had just made for himself. He seemed to have been having a bit more trouble than usual sleeping in the past week.

_Funny._

Of course, he had no idea why that might be. It wasn’t like anything had changed.

A sliver of sound suddenly caught his ear; a quiet breath that would have probably been mute to anyone other than a paranoid Auror such as himself.

Percival froze in his tracks.

A beat later, he heard it again. It was unmistakable: a soft utterance of words.

_Whispers._

They came from the guest bedroom that he had just barely stepped past – Credence’s room.

Slowly, Percival stepped backwards, willing the floorboards not to creek underneath his weight. He only had to shift slightly to be able to press his ear against the door.

He listened, and an involuntary shudder flitted down his spine.

To whatever voices Credence may have heard whispering -- Credence was now whispering back.


	2. Hide And Seek

"Who were you talking to?" 

"Violet." 

Percival eyed the boy wearily. 

 Once again, Credence was insisting that there was some unseen presence lurking about the house. 

An imaginary friend, if you will.  

And one really must understand, Percival had  _tried_ to give the boy the benefit of the doubt.  

He had theorized all the ways it could be possible that Credence was seeing something truly there.  

He had inspected every nook and cranny of Credence's room, occasionally bursting inside at spontaneous moments to cast various revealing charms.  

Each time he had felt (and probably looked) more foolish than the last.  

After many inspections, inquiries, and much speculation there was simply no other way around it: 

Credence had finally lost his marbles.  

He  _must_ have snapped. Credence was speaking to shadows, hearing sweet nothings from nonexistent beings. Sure, there were ghosts in the wizarding world – but even they were visible to  _some_ degree.  

And who could blame him, really?  

The poor boy has had such little reason to be happy --- to stay sane even.  

Percival found that he really did feel sorry for Credence, something he could not say in regards to many people. The kid deserved better than the hand he had been dealt, most anyone would deserve better honestly. Percival knew some rotten youths who had grown up pampered in ways Credence likely couldn't even begin to imagine -- Percival included.  

Still, all his sympathies aside, Percival found the whole debacle quite creepy. And so he asked Credence to cut it out anyway.  

"Well I can't just ignore her..." Credence had mumbled lowly, actually looking mortified at the idea of offending this nonexistent being.  

"There is no her!" Percival had snapped at him, and the boy flinched at the words. "Credence, how many times do I have to tell you? There is no one in your bedroom but you, I have checked every way possible, both magical and non."  

"Mr. Graves..." Credence squeaked timidly, and Percival was annoyed at the way his expression seemed to soften in reaction.  

"Look," Percival sighed, he slammed his coffee mug down on the kitchen counter, "I get it. You're lonely. Anyone would be, given your situation. Perhaps, you should take up a hobby. Spend a little more time with the Goldsteins? I don't know what the hell kids do these days..." 

"Mr. Graves..." Credence repeated -- slightly more hushed, but with a bit more urgency. 

" _What_?!?"  

Credence pointed to the archway that led out into the main hallway, "She's right there...."  

Percival straightened as his gaze followed the finger, as if he expected to actually find someone standing there. 

For a second, he felt a flicker of magic.  

A girl materialized, just as Credence had once described her; blonde and pale, much like his beloved sister.  

She smiled with the sadness of some undeserved, terrible tragedy.  

...and then that second passed just as quickly as it seemed to come. 

There was nothing standing under the archway. 

It was just an archway leading to nothing but the darkness of an unlit hall. 

" _There's no one there, Credence._ " Percival insisted with as much firmness as he could muster, "I really must get going, I'm going to be late. Please, just go visit Queenie, I believe Tina said she'd be home today. I'd really rather you just try getting out of the house, for once." 

An odd expression passed through Credence's face, but Percival didn't even need to ask. He could practically hear the thought as though Credence had said it out loud.  

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like that." Percival grumbled as took his scarf from the coat rack, wrapping it around his neck with the familiarity of someone slipping on a worn glove. "I only mean that you should get out for your own sake, my boy. It's just not healthy to be cooped up in one place all day." 

Credence looked like he wanted to retort, but the meager amount of determination he had dissipated quickly. He settled on mutely nodding, his eyes glued to his own shoes again.  

Percival figured it was as good of a response as he was going to get -- he could hardly imagine Credence excited at the suggestion of doing anything outside of his comfort zone, small and narrow though that zone was.  

As he left the house, he contemplated outings he could maybe take Credence on.  

Percival could be certain the boy had never seen a museum before, or so much as a zoo even.  

He felt oddly excited as he envisioned the awe on Credence's face as he looked upon the Eiffel tower for the first time.  

As Percival stepped onto an elevator at MACUSA, he wondered what Credence might think of cotton candy. Would he think it's too sweet?  

Did the boy have a sweet tooth at all? 

What might he think of spicy foods? 

And as Percival finally sat down on the chair of his office, he wondered why he gave a shit about any of these things, to begin with.  

* * *

So close.  

He had been  _so_ close to clocking out.  

It was just maybe 10 more minutes until 5:00 PM when Popertina Goldstein burst into his office, her eyes bloodshot and her chest heaving.  

Percival glanced up at her from the incident report he was reading, already unamused. 

"Yes?" He prompted when she only seemed to stand there awkwardly, even after catching her breath.  

"Mr... Mr. Graves..." She began, but only to fall quiet again. 

Percival sat back and exhaled heavily, " _Yes, Ms._ _Goldstein_?"  

"Well, um...sir..." Tina hesitated, and Percival checked the clock.  

7 minutes.  

"Out with it, Tina..." Percival growled, his fingers strumming his desk impatiently.  

"…Newt is in town." She muttered quickly, so quickly that Percival had to take a second to register what she had said. 

Another pause, more silence. 

With a wave of his hand, Percival motioned for Tina to continue. He knew -- or at least he certainly hoped -- that Tina would know better than to waste  _this_ much of Percival's time to simply tell him that Scamander was in town.  

Tina stepped back suddenly like she thought Percival might hit her.  

And then, in a very fast succession of timid squeaking, she explained, "...And Credence came over to the apartment, and Newt was home, and he took him into the briefcase to show him some of his creatures and... oh please be too mad Mr. Graves... b-but we kind of can't find him."  

Behind Percival, a clock chimed five. 


	3. Walking With Strangers

As he descended the staircase that led into Newt Scamander’s workshop, Percival counted each step like every one of his mounting regrets. 

Scamander trailed behind him, visibly nervous. His apparent intimidation did give Percival a glimmer of satisfaction in what was otherwise a very aggravating situation.  

“I can’t believe you lost him…” Percival growled under his breath for the umpteenth time.  

“Well, he…just kind of wandered off.” Was all Scamander had to say, and not with much conviction. “I’m sure he’ll be fine, not to worry.” 

“Have you met him?!?” Percival scoffed as they exited the shabby workshop, opening the door to a rather scenic view of green pasture.  

At least, it might have been a gorgeous view to anyone who gave a rat’s ass about nature. To Percival, it was just an expansion of areas they needed to search; a whole landscape of places where Credence might have gotten in over his head.   

“A mouse would send the boy into a panic, let alone the sight of a full grown thunderbird!  Christ, Scamander. If he turns up dead of a heart attack over this, I swear, I’m throwing you in jail all over again…” 

Scamander actually looked miffed. He rolled his eyes, and only then did Percival begin to see some resemblance between him and Thesus Scamander. 

“None of my creatures will hurt him,” Scamander insisted, but a glimpse of a scurrying demiguise passing by them sent doubts through Percival’s mind.  

He was hardly feeling reassured. Percival began to imagine Credence trembling before some enormous, scaly red dragon that eyed the helpless thing with sadistic hunger. His fingers twitched. 

“We’ll see.  I’ll do what I need to do to protect him if he’s gotten in trouble with anything Scamander, just remember that... ” Percival mumbled under his breath, and that finally earned a full on glare from Scamander.  

He may have had found it interesting had the situation not been so pressing:  

Since Tina had introduced them, Percival had spent most of their time together berating the man for not keeping track of Credence... yet it wasn’t until he made a  _vaguely_ threatening remark directed at the monstrosities within the suitcase that Percival seemed to finally hit a nerve.  

He really had no idea what Popertina saw in this man, Percival mused to himself. He shook his head, trying to store away his contemplative thoughts for another time. 

Unsure as to how else to find the boy, Percival began to call out Credence’s name as they walked together, and Scamander followed suit. They would pause for just a beat to listen for a response, but the most they would hear was the occasional caw of the thunderbird, or the growl of what Percival could imagine was some vicious beast, lurking behind the bushes.  

They were at it for quite some time.  

In fact, both men had already grown quite weary by the time they finally found the boy.  

They had covered what had to have been many acres, walking past the scrutinizing gazes of various magical creatures. Some of said gazes, Percival felt, were more ominous than scrutinizing – but he tried to keep his disquiet to himself.  

Their feet were throbbing and Percival felt just about ready to spin around and sucker punch Scamander out of mere frustration. 

And then they finally found Credence, curled into a fetal position in the middle of a more spacious patch of dirt and grass.  

It was the sound of his sobs that had met their ears first; soft but unmistakable. Percival didn’t want to think about how that sound seemed so familiar to him, even though Credence seemed to actively restrain himself from crying in Percival’s presence.  

And yet the shuddering gasps registered in his mind like a conditioned response; like the bell to Pavlov’s dog.  

The wheezing practically  _beckoned_ Percival, and as soon as he heard it, his feet seemed to know exactly which direction to go. He followed the labored hyperventilating until they saw him at last… and behind him, Scamander screamed.  

Credence was soaked in what was obviously blood, and what they quickly saw wasn’t his own blood.  

The corpse of a giant graphorn lay on it’s side just behind Credence, it’s stomach ripped open and it’s entrails spilling out like some gruesome seaweed in an ocean of crimson and bile.  

Credence and Percival’s presence likely forgotten to the magizoologist, Scamander rushed to the carcass with urgency -- as though there was something that could still be done for the thing.  

Percival, on the other hand, strode to Credence with hesitation.  

The boy had yet to even glance up at them, his face still submerged between his own knees. 

When Percival felt he was close enough, he crouched down and he gingerly touched the arm that Credence had wrapped around his own legs. He could feel wetness rub off on the tips of his fingers --  what smelled to be a mixture of actual blood, sweat, and tears.  

Credence peered up at him finally, his face contorted in heart wrenching sadness and confusion.  

“Credence, what happened?” Percival whispered -- but he wasn’t sure if his gentle tone was born from empathy or from fear.  

“It was Violet, Mr. Graves!” Credence screamed suddenly, his expression aghast, “I swear, it wasn’t me! It was her! She made me do it!”  

Percival flinched, his own pulse suddenly pounding.  

 _Was_ _this what_ _this has_ _really come to?_  

 _Good God._  

Percival stood, unsure how to respond to the implications of the boy’s statement. His gaze wandered beyond the terrified and bloodied child at his feet --  and he saw Scamander staring back at them with a disturbed expression that really did not become him.  

For the second time, Percival thought dryly, he could see his resemblance to his elder sibling. 

* * *

 

Much later that night, after an endless barrage of shouts and tears, they gave Credence a hefty portion of Veritaserum in the kitchen of Percival’s brownstone. 

With Scamander, Tina, and Percival standing over him like concerned parents, Credence  _still_  could only reiterate:  

“It wasn’t me, it was Violet. She wanted it dead.”  

And in the hours that followed, the three of them sat around the dining table, holding a private conference. Percival had sent Credence back to the guest room for the time being.  

“First of all, who the heck is Violet?” Tina had asked, visibly torn between grief and worry.  

“Credence… has developed a bit of an imaginary friend.” Percival forced himself to explain, his fingers compulsively strumming the table again. Scamander sat between them, the bottom half of his face resting on an open palm that he propped up by his elbow.   

He merely looked lost in thought, but Percival felt still felt both uncomfortable and impatient at Scamander's silence.  

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?!?” Tina nearly yelled back, horrified.  

“I…” Percival began to present a defense, but he immediately trailed off.  

The fact of the matter was that he had no good explanation for the fact that he had kept quiet about the issue.   

In the back of his mind, a taunting voice proposed the idea that he had been worried that they might take Credence away, institutionalize him even – and that some small part of Percival could not bear the thought. 

But of course, Percival quickly snuffed that annoying voice out.  

 _Such asinine logic; of course that wasn’t it._  

 _That couldn’t be it._  

“I didn’t think he would hurt anybody.” Percival sighed, fully aware that his response had hardly addressed Tina’s completely justified dismay.  

Tina scoffed from exasperation, “Well it’s a little late for that now, sir.”  

Percival raised an eyebrow at his employee.  

He didn’t think Popertina Goldstein capable of such lip, especially to her superiors -- yet it was obvious whatever maternal or sisterly feelings she seemed to have for the boy were overriding her otherwise timid nature.  

That much, at least, Percival and Tina seemed to have in common.  

Why  _were_ they both risking their necks and careers for this boy they barely knew?  

Tina, Percival obviously could not speak for. He only could speculate why he seemed to have a soft spot for the young man, with his constantly frightened demeanor and malnourished physique – his pale skin and his lips that were oddly red for someone who had probably never used chapstick.  

Percival's thoughts continued to wander deeper into uncharted waters  -- sick, perverted waters -- when suddenly, Scamander spoke. 

“What if he truly is seeing someone there?” Scamander suggested, somehow now looking even more disquieted than he had earlier.  

“How do you mean?” Tina prompted with the raspy voice of someone who was afraid of the answer. 

Scamander worried his bottom lip, hesitation etched in his features. 

 Speaking so lowly that one might wonder if he was more so saying to himself, he mumbled, “…what if this friend he thinks he’s seeing is actually the obscurus? Some manifestation of it?”  

Percival immediately huffed, rejecting the notion.  

"His obscurus hasn't shown itself in months." 

"With all due respect, Mr. Graves," Scamander said, "that doesn't necessarily mean it isn't there... or getting worse." 

"It's nonsense," Percival barked, crossing his arms over his chest.  

Scamander hissed back with the malevolence of someone who had just lost something dear to them, "Again, Mr. Graves, with all due respect... you are hardly an expert on obscurials or how they work. Nobody is." 

Perhaps sensing the growing tension in the room, Tina stood abruptly, "Maybe we should talk about this in the morning, when we've all had a chance to rest."  

Neither man spoke, but Newt's shoulders sank in a defeated sulk. Without another word, the magizooligist pushed back his chair and left the table.  

Percival buried his face in his hands, running one through his hair as he sighed. He supposed it would probably be best if he made Credence sleep in his room again tonight. 

...Just to be safe. 


	4. Two Hearts

Despite Percival’s company, Credence still seemed deeply disturbed.

He lay next to Percival on the bed, trembling slightly and occasionally mumbling to himself. The whites of the boy’s eyes were bloodshot, and it was obvious he had no hope of sleeping anytime soon.

Then again, neither did Percival.

The older man sat upright against the oak headboard, a book he wasn’t actually reading propped open on his lap. On his nightstand, what was previously a full glass of whiskey had been withered down to a few honey colored droplets.

Truthfully, Percival wasn’t paying much mind to the fretting boy that lay beside him either.

 He was thinking… analyzing.

The Auror in him was picking at recent memories like jigsaw puzzle pieces, trying to fit it all together.

Of course, there was always the obvious conclusion:

The boy was just crazy.

He had every reason to be, and then some.

 _Why_ couldn’t Percival just accept that?

_Give up._

Why should he not just admit that the boy was a lost cause -- surrender him to some mental institution first thing on Monday morning.

Of course, they’d probably subject him to some god awful method of “treatment”.

The magical mental institutions were just about as barbaric as the no maj ones, from what Percival had heard. Credence would be right back to where he started -- being treated no better than a stray dog picking through someone’s garbage bins.

 _At least he’d already know the routine_ , the snider part of Percival’s brain mused dryly.

On the other hand, given recent events, it was safe (and almost obvious) to say that Credence had become a danger.

Yes, it had only been some creature thus far… but who knows if it could be a person that this “Violet” targeted next? Hadn’t Percival built damn near his entire career around ensuring the safety of the magical community? Could he stay true to his profession if he failed to lock away a person who was clearly unstable?

It wasn’t like this was Credence’s first offense.

Would committing him really make Percival such a monster?

People were admitted for all sorts of ailments, after all. Institutionalization did not carry quite the stigma it used too, what with inversion and other all sorts of other deviancies on the rise.

_Hmm._

The Auror persona picked out a new puzzle piece. It had gone largely unnoticed, but now the piece had caught his eye. He sat back in his metaphorical office chair, mindlessly twirling it between his fingers as he speculated.

“Credence...”

Percival turned to the boy slightly, to confirm that he was still awake. His heart pounded just a beat harder when he saw that Credence was already staring up at him as he lay on his side.

The boy seemed transfixed -- and it stirred something in Percival that he didn’t quite like.

“Credence,” Percival continued when Credence didn’t seem to be saying anything, “You mentioned Grindelwald stayed with you in bed… you said it helped.”

Credence nodded, his face flushing slightly his mention of Grindelwald’s name.

“Er… forgive me, my boy, if this is a delicate subject. What… exactly did Grindelwald _do_ to make you feel better?

Credence’s eyes widened in panic.

The pink tinge that had begun to line his sharp cheekbones darkened into a reddish hue that reminded Percival of the blood he had seen Credence submerged in hours earlier. Percival felt a twinge of guilt for making the boy uncomfortable, but he believed he had found a piece of the puzzle that could be _crucial_ to the whole picture.

As though the “why” was what mattered here -- not the “what the fuck can we do about it now?”

_That’s right, Percival -- get to the bottom of the “why”, so you can work out and explain to yourself why it isn’t your fault._

_Make him relive whatever abuse Grindelwald inflected on the poor child, as though he wasn’t wearing your face when he did it. Find a way to blame this on your impostor._

_Then, at least, you might not feel so responsible._

Shaking his head to clear his troubled thoughts, Percival closed the book on his lap as he began to explain, “Often, imaginary friends and other…psychotic behaviors _could_ be manifestations of sexual abuse.”

“Violet _isn’t_ imaginary.” Credence retorted softly, seeming to welcome an opening for a change of subject.

But Percival didn’t miss the deflection.

“What did he do, Credence?”

Credence fell silent, his vision now transfixed on anything except Percival. Percival sighed.

“I don’t want to say it…” Credence whispered sullenly.

“Then show me.” Percival suggested before he could stop himself.

The instant the challenge slipped from his lips, he regretted it.

Yet he made no move to obliviate the boy, even as Credence moved to take him up on the offer -- suddenly closing the gap between them.

Percival inhaled sharply as he felt a hand wandering slowly downward underneath the covers, gently grazing Percival’s inner thigh with the tips of his fingers. Credence seemed like he was tilting his face to kiss him, but he instead ducked down lower and bit Percival down gingerly at the skin of his open neck.

Percival let out an involuntary moan, his own vision seeming to glaze over. His breaths quickened rapidly as Credence slipped a hand down the hem line of his pajama bottom, edging towards his hardened cock almost _teasingly_ slow.

He should put a stop to this.

He should leave.

But then both Credence’s mouth and his hand began to explore lower and lower, and Percival seemed to forget where he had been going with this whole argument anyway.

The Auror persona had already punched out his time card -- the jigsaw pieces lay scattered and abandoned his office desk, forming nothing but a gigantic fucking mess.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, there was a hard and urgent knocking at his door.

Percival looked through the peephole to see Scamander standing on his doorstep, suitcase in hand. The magizoologist appeared to be alone -- and furthermore he looked determined.

_This couldn’t be good._

Percival unlocked the door, doubting that either Scamander or Tina would buy it if he pretended not to be home after the previous night’s events. Still, he only wedged the heavy front door open partway; his hand gripped the doorknob, ready to slam the thing shut at any given moment.

Honestly, Scamander seemed startled he had answered so quickly.

The other man eyed Percival wearily, and for a somber moment, Percival wondered if Scamander’s distaste for him had more to do with his doppelgänger rather than Percival himself.

_Does everyone see him when they look at you, I wonder?_

“What is it, Scamander?” Percival grunted, likely sounding much more hostile than he had intended.

Scamander was quiet for another moment, appearing somewhat conflicted.

His eyes seemed to study Percival’s disheveled appearance. While he doubted Scamander was any kind of Legilimens , it made Percival feel incredibly self-conscious.

“ _What is it, Scamander_?”

“What? Oh – sorry....”

Scamander looked embarrassed, an expression Percival didn’t think the younger Scamander wore often.

The magizoologist cleared his throat before saying, “Mr. Graves, I know we may have gotten off on the wrong foot the other day. I didn’t mean to get cross with you, I was just rather upset about the passing of one of my creatures, I suppose. But nothing we can do about that now….”

 Scamander trailed off for a moment, his eyes glazing over and becoming unfocused. Percival got the feeling that the passing of the beast was getting more to him than the other man was letting on, but before he could say anything in reaction, Scamander continued, “…I do think we can prevent it happening again though, or worse. Mr. Graves, I _do_ still stand by what I said about the obscurus the other day. The girl I knew… the other obscurus… she started acting out before she died too.”

“She… also had imaginary friends?” Percival cocked an eyebrow, the notion piquing his interest.

“Well, no.” Scamander shook his head, “But… there were blackouts. More and more, as time went on. Obscuri are largely unstudied, Mr. Graves. And Credence is already the first of his kind by the mere fact that he still continues to live past childhood.”

Percival’s grip on the doorknob tightened slightly.

He didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“What are you proposing, Scamander?”

“I’m proposing…that we start work to pull the obscurus out of him, either way. As soon as possible.”

“And how do we do that?”

Scamander winced as he spoke; like the words pained him.

“Well, since it’s never successfully been done before, we only have an idea of what methods might be efficient…”

Scamander trailed off, and Percival glared.

“…but?” he growled, able to recognize that they had reached the stipulation to the deal.

Scamander looked suddenly quite afraid, and Percival just knew the magizoologist was about to say something that would piss him right off.

Scamander took a deep breath, and he seemed to force himself to rejoin eye contact with Percival.

“…but they are all very, _very_ painful.”

And without even the courtesy of a verbal response from Percival, the door slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so part of the reason I've been updating so much is because I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow and I don't know when I can update next so uhhhh... I'll see ya'll hopefully soon. :)


	5. Looking Glass

If repressed sexual abuse was ever the root of Credence’s insanity, Percival came to find that more sex did not seem to solve it either way.

Then again, he couldn’t be sure that it was hurting things either.

…So what reason did they have to _not_ keep doing it?

Yes, on rare occasion Percival’s ears would still catch the dreadful whispers – bits and pieces of conversations with an imaginary somebody. Yet in the moments where Credence wasn’t acting like a complete and total lunatic, the boy actually did seem just a smidge happier.

A little bit more normal.

Baby steps, Percival supposed.

He would probably never admit that Credence’s merriment had any sort of correlation, but Percival began to find that he woke up with a bit more pep to his step as well.

There were no more pretenses about imaginary monsters under the bed -- only uninhibited orgasms on top of Percival’s bed.

And then there was the occasional moment where Percival would wake up at 3 AM, and he would turn on his side to see Credence literally talking to the nearest wall. And Percival would fake a cough and Credence would abruptly stop speaking and pretend to be asleep.

There were those moments where Percival would turn over on his other side and try to fall back asleep, while he ignored the unnatural goosebumps prickling at the skin of his arms; the little hairs that stood on end without the presence of static.

Meanwhile, the trash bin seemed to grow fuller much more frequently with every new discarded letter from Scamander.

…But Credence didn’t need to know any of that.

 

* * *

 

 “A masquerade ball?”

Credence looked at Percival questioningly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Yes, m’boy,” Percival grinned at Credence over the dinner table.

Over a bowl of vegetable soup, Credence cocked his head and Percival had to remind himself that the boy had nearly literally living under a rock for most of his life.

The older man cleared his throat and elaborated, “It’s like a big party where people dance with masks on. It’s supposed to ball where everyone is anonymous, or pretends to be someone else…in a way.”

The boy instantaneously turned a deep shade of red, his eyes widening.

“You… want me to _dance_ …w-with you?”

Percival chortled, “Well, personally dancing isn’t one of my favorite hobbies. But as it is a work function, I am obligated to chaperone. I just thought you might like to tag along, get out of the house with me for once. I know I haven’t shown you as much of the wizarding world as I had wanted to since taking you in, considering my work schedule. I am sorry about that.”

Credence continued to stare at him almost disbelievingly, and Percival quickly clarified, “No, we don’t have to dance Credence. Not if you don’t like.”

The younger man’s shoulders sank with relief and somehow Percival found it endearing -- despite being raised in nearly opposite backgrounds, it sometimes felt like he and Credence were actually remarkably similar sometimes.

_Both introverted._

_Both damaged._

Percival had always held on to the hope that he could repair some of that damage. And where he had failed to do so for himself; he now hoped he could do for Credence. That was always part of his incentive for taking Credence Barebone in, whether he would ever admit it to himself or not.

“What if someone recognizes me, Mr. Graves?” Credence frowned, and Percival did his best to put on a reassuring smile that probably looked sadder rather than it did comforting.

“That’s the point of a masquerade ball, my boy. Like I said, we’ll be wearing masks. That’s the ‘masquerade’ part of the ball…no one is supposed to know who you are. Your identity will be secret,” Percival explained.

But still, the boy had a point. A mask that covered merely half of ones face was hardly much of a disguise, and while Credence Barebone was generally assumed dead by the wizarding world, it would mean insurmountable trouble for both of them if the director of magical security was caught canoodling with a presumed dead fugitive who was also of male gender.

“….I’ll probably transfigure some of your features, too. Just to be safe,” the older man went on to add, his imagination suddenly running wild with all the things he and Credence could do with a set of magically transfigured breasts.

“Oh, I see. So…what kind of masks would we wear?” Credence asked, “What do they look like?”             

Now that more worrisome parts had been ironed out, the boy’s tone was high with all the excitement of a child curious about the details of some unheard of holiday or concept.

“Masquerade masks are a very special kind of mask, Credence. I think you might like them.” Percival explained, but the curiosity and unbridled enthusiasm that simmered behind Credence’s dark eyes told him that the boy would approve of the mask even if Percival were to hand him a paper brown bag and tell him that that was it.

The boy was just excited at the concept of doing something with him, likely.

…Still, something felt off about the enthusiasm.

Percival frowned.

“Did Grindelwald ever take you dancing, Credence?”

Credence’s elation faded rapidly from his face, and Percival mentally kicked himself for the question. He wasn’t even sure why he had asked such a thing; it was a slip of the tongue.

He was nearly about to tell Credence not to answer that when the boy did, his voice once again quiet and meek:

“No, Mr. Graves… but I’ve _always_ wanted you to.”

 

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Percival found himself seated on one side of a horse drawn carriage.

Next to him, a girl in a black ballroom gown was rigid, with her gloved hands folded on her lap. Through her sparkling green masquerade mask, she stared out of the carriages curtained windows -- taking in mundane street views as though she was seeing the landscape of some mythical kingdom.

When the carriage came to a stop, Percival tapped her gently on a pale and slender exposed shoulder, which was still slightly hunched like the person underneath it always was.

“Are you ready?” Percival asked her, and she nodded despite visible uncertainty.

Credence was terrified, and Percival knew it.

He took a gloved hand in his own, squeezing it firmly.

This was a bad idea, Percival’s inner voice screamed. _This was horrible, terrible idea, and he never should have suggested it._

But they were already here, it was too late to turn back -- and _good heavens_ Credence somehow looked more beautiful than any girl Percival had seen in his entire life. For as many people as Percival Graves has come across in his lifespan, that was quite a bold statement.

And yet…Percival didn’t doubt the truth of that statement for a second.

The carriage door opened, and any reservations either man had needed to be disregarded.

They stepped out of the carriage, Percival’s hand gripping his dates tightly enough to be nearly painful as he helped her step out in minimally high heels.

Just before they walked up to the venue’s entrance, the girl tugged on his sleeve so slightly, Percival almost didn’t feel it. He turned to face her, and through his own white mask his gaze met eyes that seemed to already dance with panic and fear.

“Yes?” Percival whispered, leaning in close in case Credence said anything that might raise questions.

“I know…” The high pitched response came in breathless, nervous squeaks, “… that tonight, we’re supposed to be other people. But… you’re still _you_ … right, Mr. Graves?”

 _What an odd thing to ask,_ Percival thought to himself -- but they didn’t have much time to talk amongst themselves.

The older man could only nod, “Yes, my love… I’m still me.”

“ _Names_?”

An irate voice broke the moment.

Percival spun around to see the bald doorman staring at them clearly annoyed, a long strip of parchment in his hand.

Percival shook his head, kicking himself for somehow already having caused disruption. They would need to be _much_ more careful if they were to get through this night like he had hoped they would.

“So sorry,” he clarified, clearing his throat and pulling the girl closer to his side, “Mr. Percival and Violet Graves, please.”

 


	6. Kill The Lights

The evening started off well enough -- there was drinking and there was dancing.

There was no dancing for them specifically, but Credence seemed perfectly content to watch the other couples with an eager fascination. Percival wasn’t entirely sure Credence had ever seen anyone dancing in person before, and he was content to watch Credence be engrossed by the ambience.

They held a firm grip on each other, Percival being careful not to let Credence out of his sights. However, the protective hold became rather cumbersome as the crowd grew thicker. People kept coming up to them either to socialize or to simply gawk at the mystery person on the Director’s arm.

“Oh come on,” Abernathy pestered Percival once he had found him, the shorter man unsurprisingly dateless, “You have to try the firewhiskey Mr. Graves, it is _truly_ remarkable!”

“Perhaps later, Abernathy,” Percival grunted, growing tired of repeating himself.

He was honestly tempted – lord knows he could use a drink or two – but Percival did not want to risk anything that could dull his senses.

At least, not while he was responsible for…

“Credence…?” Percival blurted out when he turned to find his side completely absent of his companion.

 _Shit_.

“What was that, sir?” Abernathy screamed back at Percival over the music, and Percival fought the urge to smack his subordinate for having distracted him.

Instead, he spun around and began retracing his steps briskly, praying to a God he didn’t believe in that Credence had simply run into Tina or Queenie who may have pulled him aside.

Percival walked circles around the venue, cursing every time someone stopped him for conversation.

But of course, he knew he could not afford to look _too_ panicked, as that might lead to questions.

To the voices he recognized as one of the more prestigious MACUSA employees, Percival forced himself to spare some small talk. He wondered how this many people seemed to recognize him until Franco teased, “I’d recognize that confident stride anywhere!”

_Damn his prominence._

After maybe 4 or 5 forced conversations, Percival wandered over to the bar.

He wasn’t even sure if he was looking for Credence anymore, or if he was just ready to give up and take up Abernathy’s suggestion on the firewhiskey…either way, he managed to find both.

In the swarm of bodies, Percival spotted the disguised Credence in the grips of aggressively groping hands -- the hands belonged to a blonde head of hair that Percival recognized to be Smith’s. Smith had his back turned to him -- but he the build, height, and skin tone all fit the man’s description.

He had Credence pinned against a spot of wall just a little left to the bar. However, what was even more surprising was that Credence seemed to _actually_ be enjoying it -- the lips he had altered to look more feminine were curved into a subtle but mischievous grin.

Suddenly seething, Percival had no reservations about charging through the remainder of the partygoers in his path, who reacted with gasps and glares through sparkling masks. He reached Smith and Credence, neither whom seemed to have noticed his approach in the heat of their own private moment.

…That was, of course, until Percival grabbed Smith and flipped him so that they faced each other, Percival’s fist colliding with the man’s jawline before Smith had any time to react.

For his part, Credence swayed where he stood. He seemed to grip the wall in an attempt to remain upright.

 Percival looked over at him only briefly – but now that he was much closer, he observed the body language of someone heavily drugged. Before he could do anything about it however, Smith recovered from his shock and reciprocated Percival’s blow, sending Percival staggering backwards.

It wasn’t even so much that Smith had delivered that powerful of a blow, but Percival’s momentary notice of Credence’s state seemed to make Percival forget the very situation he had created just seconds prior.

“What the fuck, man?!” Smith bellowed; his breath heavy with the stench of whiskey. His fist was already pulled back, ready for a second strike.

Percival failed to feel intimidated, his rage only seeming to climb by the second. The burning sensation resurfaced, and it seemed to claw at the walls of his chest like one of Scamander’s beasts. It felt painful with a hungry ache for bloodshed, his pulse pounding like the growling of its stomach.

He hissed through gritted teeth, “ _The fuck did you do to my wife, Smith_?”

Smith scoffed, “ _Bullshit_ , I didn’t see no ring on her.”

Smith swung the pending fist – but Percival was ready this time, and he caught it with an open palm, gripping it so hard that the knuckles underneath it audibly cracked.

Smith let out a squeal that the sadistic beast in Percival found _immensely_ satisfying. It urged him to do the same to the bones on the man’s face.

“What did I tell you about keeping your hands off my things, Smith?” Percival growled lowly, still continuing to gradually increase the tightness of his squeeze.

But remarkably, Smith _still_ managed a defiant glare back.

“Shut the hell up, Graves,” the blonde spat back, “ _She_ came on to _me_. Besides…everyone knows you’re a pansy anyway. We all know the broad is just a cover.”

Percival kneed the man in the stomach, which sent Smith hurdling back a few feet.

 Still, the fist Percival had had a hold of came loose, and Smith took the opportunity to bull rush Percival.

Smith collided into him and Percival lost his balance. Both men crashed into the ground into a confused blur of fists and smacks, the crowd around them parting to give them room but only stepping aside far enough to continue to continue watching.

The spectacle provided just enough distraction so that no one saw blur of black smoke before it coagulated into one big ball of shimmering darkness, the bulk of it diving swiftly into the fight.

It plucked Smith off of Percival faster than anyone could blink, and a sea of people were left to stumble and tumble out of the way -- the sounds of orchestrated music suddenly replaced with a crescendo of screams and shrieks. A few brave wizards tried pointing their wands up at the cloud of black, sending stunning spells that seemed to have no immediate effect.

And then, after perhaps around thirty seconds of sheer chaos that felt like thirty hours -- both the ball of smoke and the corpse of Smith made a freefall onto the hardwood ballroom floor.

The gray and ashen body of the blonde man landed with a soft but sickening thud.

The few people who still remained in the building halted their escape efforts; all turning their sights to the northwest corner where they had made their crash landing.

Percival looked on with a dawning horror as Credence -- completely undisguised --lay sprawled amidst the wreckage. The black dress he had been wearing tattered and ripped, the boy was nearly naked and covered in bleeding lacerations.

At the doorway that led out to the lobby of the venue, the distinct clearing of a throat was the first thing to break the stunned silence.

Percival looked over to see Seraphina Piquery unmasked; the President’s calm yet furious gaze focused solely on Credence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from vaycay. ^____^
> 
> Can't blame it on Violet when there are that many witnesses, now can we?


	7. Always

"Take him straight to executions," Seraphina had barked the order in a restrained voice.

Percival had tried his damnedest to get to Credence before the Aurors --- __his__ Aurors --- had seized him but it was too late. Credence was literally on the opposite end of the ballroom, and Percival was still aching from the minor tussle he had been in just a few minutes earlier.

He could only scream out the boy's name in protest as they hauled Credence to his feet, Credence still appearing dazed and confused. A group of wizards had managed to stand him upright easily -- his limbs limp and jelly like in their grips.

When Percival found his feet again, he rushed over to Seraphina.

The President was still staring at Credence as the group of Aurors apparated him away with a loud crack.

There was a look of determined malevolence that danced behind the darks of her eyes, and something inside Percival shivered.

Still, he poured all his leftover aggression into his voice as Percival reprimanded her.

"Seraphina! Don't --"

"Don't __what__ , Mr. Graves?" Seraphina spun on her heel to face him, the ferocious expression becoming none the softer, "...Don't do the job you were supposed to be doing?"

__Well, she wasn't wrong._ _

Yet as accurate though the President may have been, Percival knew he had to stand his ground f he even had the slightest chance of bargaining for Credence's life.

"You don't understand," Percival tried to explain as he tried to catch his breath, "He hasn't been in his right mind. Please, just... don't execute him. Not yet.  If you could just give me a chance to explain --"

"Honestly, Mr. Graves, I have the right mind to throw you right in with him," Seraphina quirked an eyebrow at Percival, her glare challenging him to continue his arguments.

"You __did__ bring the boy here, under a disguise no less. What reason do I have to believe that this is not all part of some scheme?"

"Madam President, I..."

"Save it, Graves," She hissed, the careful mask of deadly calm finally beginning to crack, "One of my employees is dead because of this child – there is absolutely no argument that can spare his life, and do not even __begin__ to think for one damn second that you are off the hook for the extent of your relationship with him. People had been suspicious about a squatter taking up residence in your home for some time, but for the most part, we had turned a blind eye given your position with MACUSA. __Clearly__ , that was a mistake. We will deal with you later."

Percival could feel that the President was on the verge of apparating off herself when he reached out and seized her arm in a final, desperate attempt to stop her.

She shot him a genuinely surprised look – as far as he could remember, Percival had never actually touched the President before.

There weren't many who have – it was just something you didn't do.

And if the surprise at the contact had caught her off guard, it could be said that the sheer, panicked expression -- something that was frankly just so out of character for Percival Graves -- caused her to hesitate just long enough.

" _ _He's done nothing wrong, Seraphina__ ," Percival pleaded with her in a hoarse, cracking, miserable whisper, "It's the wizarding community that has failed him. You __must__ know that. By all rights, he should have been just a normal, happy kid attending Ilvermorny. Instead, the boy has known nothing but pain and suffering  -- more so than anyone that innocent should __ever__ deserve. Don't let it end like this, Madam President. Please... I'm begging you."

"Are you seriously trying to appeal to my humanity, Mr. Graves?" Seraphina responded in a callous tone, but Percival believed he had seen a flicker of consideration that caused hope to swell inside of him.

"I believe..." Percival said slowly, knowing the phrasing of his next few words were likely to be crucial to Credence's fate, "...that you, the Seraphina Piquery I know, the one who attended Ilvermorny with me wouldn't sentence a boy... an abused, _mentally sick_ boy... to be put down like a rabid dog. Not when he __could__ be cured."

"...And you are claiming you know what can cure this boy?" Seraphina asked, allowing the surprise to show in her voice. 

The few, tense conversations with Scamander came to mind.

Percival knew full well that he was stretching the truth when he nodded his head and in a certain voice answered, "Yes."

Seraphina eyed him warily, perhaps searching for some tell that he was lying through his teeth. If she noticed any giveaway or even hesitation, however, she didn't mention it. She pursed her lips before she nodded curtly, the cogs that had been spinning in the workings of her mind coming to an abrupt stop as she decided.

"Very well, Mr. Graves... I will stop them from killing him __immediately --__ at least enough to give us time to discuss this as you have requested and hear out this cure of yours. But Smith's family is sure to want justice soon, and I do not have time to wait around very long myself. In the meantime, he will remain in detainment at MACUSA."

Percival bit back the low growl that gradually crept up his throat and threatened to spill over, knowing that this was as good as it was going to get. He loathed the idea of Credence being locked away in some uncomfortable and cold cell  -- but at least he would be alive.

Anything was better than an instant death sentence, really -- and Percival had seen Seraphina go through with countless of them.

Objectively, he knew he should be counting his blessing that he had convinced her to delay it at all.

When Percival turned looked behind himself, he saw Tina standing just a few feet away in a navy blue ball gown, her arms crossed over her chest. She watched him carefully.

He expected his subordinate to lecture him for bringing Credence with him, and frankly it wouldn’t have been undeserved. It really had been a stupid idea, and in hindsight, Percival had no good explanation for why he did it.

Maybe he just wanted Credence on his arm that night, silly and selfish as it sounded.

Yet, what Tina had to say had nothing no relevance -- at least not yet.

When Percival irately asked her what in the sam hell she was staring at, Tina shook her head slowly and somberly.

In a distant, tired voice she recounted, “It’s just kind of funny, Mr. Graves. Not that long ago, when Grindelwald was you, I mean… I watched you confiscate Newt’s suitcase while Newt was dragged away in custody. He was begging you and MACUSA not to hurt his creatures, just like you were begging for Credence’s life right now. He tried to tell them that there was nothing dangerous about those creatures.”

“.. but there was. There _is_ ,” Percival retorted snidely before he could stop himself.

Tina didn’t seem fazed. In fact -- her eyes seemed to search him as she said with a frown, “I know, Mr. Graves….that’s why I’m conflicted.”

Percival felt a flare of anger at the implication that she was comparing his Credence -- a human being --to one of Scamander’s beasts. But he knew now was no time to argue.

He had the death sentence of a criminally insane boy to appeal.

Swallowing his pride, Percival asked Tina, “Can… can you get Scamander to visit, Tina? Tell him I want… no, I _need_ to talk. Tell him I’m sorry I ignored him but… Credence is in dire trouble.”

And --  finally -- the brunette let out her scolding jab, her voice seething:

“And whose fault is that, Mr. Graves?”

Tina walked off before Percival could dignify her remark with a response, and he was left stand alone with his guilt spreading like emotional cancer.

It _was_ his fault.

 _Somehow_ , Percival though bitterly --  the turmoils and tribulations of Credence Barebone seemed to _always_ be his fault.


	8. Secret

Percival had been only twelve years old the first time he had seen someone die. 

It was probably one of the many small stepping stones that led to his choice to be an Auror – one of those defining moments in your life that you never saw as defining until you looked back on it years later. 

It had been a childhood friend, stricken by a new disease that was plaguing the wizarding community. At the time, there had been no cure. 

Percival had been at his bedside when he passed, not nearly as remorseful as anyone should be sitting next to someone's deathbed, none the less the deathbed of someone close.  

At twelve years old, Percival was still woefully ignorant to the lasting impact of such loss.  

Yet he would always come to remember those last minutes of John Willard's short life – particularly the way he whispered Percival's name in a weak sigh that despite its softness was still booming with affection. 

It was the last word the boy ever said.  

Perhaps, he had meant to say more. But roughly two minutes later, Percival saw the lights leave his eyes like a blown out flame.  

It was a memory he had not recalled for some time, stowed away in the drawer of memories he wasn't fond of – a drawer that was growing ever fuller. Yet, this memory was all Percival could think of now, as he stood over Credence in the dim lighting of his small and white walled cell.  

The boy was curled up on a thin mattress that was bare of anything else except a much too small pillow. It didn't seem like Credence was in any state to notice or care, however. He was still dazed out of his mind --whatever Smith had spiked his drink with not yet having worn off.  

Through half-closed eyelids, Credence had merely glanced in Percival's general direction when the older man had let himself in.  

"Percival..." The boy whimpered.  

Percival inhaled sharply, feeling a hitch in his breath when he exhaled it back out.  

It was the first time Credence had ever addressed him by his first name -- and all Percival could think of was just how much it sounded like John Willard's last word.   

He willed himself not to shudder.  

Percival knelt down by the bed, so he could meet the boy at eye level. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed Credence's hair out of his face. The dark bangs were matted with sweat.  

He tried to give him an encouraging smile, but from the glazed over look in the boy's eyes, Percival doubted that Credence could even register the gestures of comfort.  

Still, if there was  _any_ chance, he knew he had to try.  

"I'm right here, my boy," Percival croaked hoarsely, just praying that the words might reach him. "Everything's going to be alright. I'll get you out of here as soon as I can, okay?"  

Credence let his eyelids shut fully, and for a moment Percival thought the boy had fallen asleep.  

His small body seemed to tremble with an unnaturally violent vibration, and Percival wasn't sure if it was due to a lack of warmth or withdrawals from the drugging.   

 _If only Smith weren't dead_ , Percival thought to himself bitterly,  _he would be able to tear him limb from limb for all this._  

He was about to take his leave; probably go threaten someone into getting Credence some blankets at the very least, when Credence's eyes opened again. 

"Mr. Graves..." The boy whispered.  

Somehow, Percival felt a smidge hurt at the formality when he had used his first name just moments before, but Percival was well aware that now was hardly the time to nitpick.  

"Yes, Credence," Percival murmured back gently. His heart ached with concern that he had never thought himself capable of, "Are you cold? I'll have them bring you some blankets."  

Credence managed to shake his head slightly. Tears began to well up at the corners of his eyes, and Percival thought that perhaps the drug was wearing off. Perhaps Credence was coming back to his old self again.  

Still, the boy's voice was slurred as he moaned, "I'm so sorry Mr. Graves."  

"Shhhh..." Percival hushed him, reaching out to stroke a soothing hand through his hair, "You have nothing to apologize for, Credence. I know you were only trying to help."  

"I can't... I can't.." Credence began to sob a bit more loudly and Percival wondered for a split second what might happen if the obscurus were to burst forth once more, likely destroying a good portion of the building with it.  

If word got out that Percival had been present yet again, it certainly would not look good for him.  

But Credence still seemed too weak as he merely continued to weep and blubber incoherently.  

Throwing caution to the wind, Percival climbed onto the creaky mattress so that he could lie next to the boy, holding Credence tightly against him as he continued to gasp and sputter.  

"Shhh..." Percival crooned into a head of tangled black hair, "It's going to be okay. I won't let them hurt you, I promise." 

 _Is that really a promise you can keep, Percival?_  

He swatted away the jeering inner voice -- now was  _really_ not the time.  

After a few minutes of being cradled, Credence's breathing seemed to even out. Percival himself breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure how much longer he could have kept this up without someone walking in --  but at the same time, he knew he would never have been able to leave Credence alone in his panicked state.  

 _Tsk, tsk..w_ _hen did you get so damned soft?_  

Shut up.  

The Auror pulled away, just enough to rub off a few tears with his thumb.  

When Credence had quieted enough so that Percival believed he might actually hear him he whispered, "You have nothing to fear. You know I'll do everything I can protect you. You just... need to be strong for me. And  _please_ do your best to refrain from attacking anyone else."  

Internally, Percival could hear the personification of his logical groaning.  Metaphorical eyes rolled.  

He knew neither of them could guarantee  _any_ of those things.  

He could no more come between MACUSA and a high profile prisoner than Credence could control the obscurus... not if it was provoked enough.  

Yet... what else could he really say? 

If Percival could provide Credence with some hope, false or not, why  _not_ give that much to the boy? 

Even if they both ended up dead by the end of this – which they very well might -- it's not like Credence could really accuse him of lying.  

He said he would do everything he could... and Percival somehow knew it to be the truth. He would do  _everything_.  

Yes... even if that meant groveling to a certain magizoologist.  

After another few seconds of dead silence, Credence shook his head once more.  

"What's wrong, my boy?" Percival asked him.  

"I can't..." Credence confessed in a voice drenched in guilt, "...I can't find the necklace you gave me."  

Percival cocked an eyebrow, confused. 

"...What necklace?"  

"The necklace that you gave me...." Credence repeated, his voice choked and his words cracking, "I can't find it. I wanted to use it to call you b- but I can't and I'm  _so_ sorry Mr. Graves..."  

Percival frowned. He had no idea what the boy was on about.  

Was it still the drug talking?  

Percival settled on the probability that the boy was indeed just delirious.  

He placed a firm kiss on Credence's forehead, trying to calm the boy from getting too worked up again. The small peck made Credence turn a faint shade of pink, and that gave Percival some hope that his own little strange bedfellow was still somewhere in there.  

"That's all right, Credence. I forgive you," Percival assured him, still having no idea what exactly he was forgiving, "Just rest, okay? We'll talk about it more once I get you out of here." 

Meekly, Credence nodded.  

Percival stepped off the bed and exited the cell, making it a point not to look back at the boy as he left. He knew full well that if he were to do so -- if he was forced to again see Credence as shaken and afraid and as sad as he just did – he'd likely be compelled to break him out. 

And that would just get them  _both_ killed.


	9. The Long Way Home

If Percival thought Scamander’s typically gentle nature would make it so the man was quick to forgiveness, he was wrong.

“What’s it to you, Mr. Graves?” the magizoologist muttered as he rifled through the various objects in his workshop.

Vials and glass jars were rearranged and then returned back to their original places, and Percival could not help but think that Scamander was more trying to busy his hands rather than actually looking for, or doing anything in particular.

Anything to avoid standing directly in front of the Auror who was leaning against his shed’s stairway, his arms crossed over his chest like a worried parent.

“C’mon Scamander,” Percival huffed, “You of all people should be sympathetic to the boy’s plight. You of all people should know he didn’t ask for this.”

Essentially, Credence hadn’t asked for _any_ of the miserable factors of his life.

_And yet, here they were._

“I _am_ sympathetic,” Scamander said sharply, now shooing away a curious bowtruckle that was straying onto a high shelf, “I’m merely asking why _you_ care.”

“ _Why do I care_?” Percival gaped; astounded that Scamander had already been so quick to insult him, “The boy lives with me!”

“So?” Scamander shrugged with an air of nonchalance that Percival found to be aggravating, “Tina’s told me that you had always lived alone. I’d be surprised if you didn’t want to finally have some space back.”

“How dare you – he deserves better than this, Scamander. It’s not something I feel I have to really spell out.“

“I’m not asking about what he deserves, I’m asking about what it is you want. The two matters are unrelated,” Scamander mumbled as he poured a cup of water into the soil of a potted plant.

“ _Who the fuck are you to question_ – “

“You wanted _my_ help, Mr. Graves -- surely you can withstand being subjected to my inquisitions for just a few minutes. I did -- after all -- spend weeks writing you to warn you that this might happen…even after you slammed your door in my face.”

To say that Percival was taken aback by Scamander’s boldness would be an understatement. The Auror was actually dumbfounded into silence for a few minutes.

Finally, Scamander spun around to face him.

Percival was surprised to find that rather than leering at him condescendingly – something Percival seemed to have been subjected plenty of as of late -- Scamander looked sadder than he did enraged. He had the somber look of someone speaking of a person who had already passed.

“My heart breaks for Credence -- but it _always_ has.” Scamander shook his head solemnly, “You, however… my first real conversation with _you_ was in an interrogation room where you sentenced Tina and I to death. You pulled the obscurus I had from my suitcase and you remarked that it was useless without a host. Yes, Mr. Graves… I realize it wasn’t really you. But, plainly speaking…I don’t really _know_ what the real Percival Graves is like. If we’re being perfectly honest --I don’t know how much different you might be from Grindelwald’s impersonation. No one had noticed anything was off for months, not until I came along. Me -- who knows nothing about you. As the Director of Magical Security, I would hope you can see why I might be apprehensive.  You must understand that, Mr. Graves. It’s really nothing personal but… I do not consider you a friend. I have absolutely no reason to.”

Percival refused to break eye contact, but in the tense moments that followed Scamander’s tirade, it was very difficult not to turn and leave then.

_Or, you know, pull out his wand and hex Scamander into oblivion – Thesus’ wrath be damned._

Pursing his lips, Percival begged his own pride to remember that Credence’s life was on the line here.

Surprisingly, it listened.

 He meant to seem unfazed, but his voice still came out like a low and angry snarl, “Are you saying you won’t help him?”

“I will defend that boy with my life, have no doubts about that.” Scamander insisted, “…but I want to know what’s in it for _you_ , Mr. Graves. From everything I’ve heard about you, from everything I’ve _seen_ , you’ve a track record of only caring about yourself.  It seems odd for you to be so invested in this... and frankly it _does_ make me a little suspicious about your motivations.”

Scamander turned back around to rifle through objects again, suddenly fixated on a particular drawer of mason jars as he continued to talk, “You could easily walk away from this now --absolve yourself of any association with Credence, and continue on with your life. I realize you are in hot water too, but you and I both know you have the connections to work something out. It’s Credence who’s in deep here.”

He picked up a vial with two fingers, a vial that had been tucked away at the very back of the drawer. It was filled with a shimmering black liquid that looked remarkably similar to obscurus smoke.

Scamander held it up, and it glinted even in the low and off color light. His eyes seem captivated as he watched the contents, his fingers slowly rotating the container as he held it up.

Scamander inhaled sharply and concluded, “The treatments I have in mind are dangerous to everyone involved – but I think you know that too. If anything happens to anyone other than Credence, you will likely be held accountable just by association, since you’re the one vouching to MACUSA for this. You’re only going to dig yourself deeper. So forgive me but yes… it’s a little strange that you’re the one coming here, begging me to try this route when you have every means of jumping ship.”

Percival could only snort, even though he knew every word to be true.

Scamander had a point – multiple points, actually. If someone had told Percival a year ago that he would be risking both life and career for the Second Salemers boy, he would have laughed in their face or passed it off as some classless April fool’s joke.

_Perhaps there was something interesting to Newt Scamander after all._

_Perhaps, at the very least, the magizoologist was smarter than he appeared._

_…Perhaps -- like his suitcase -- there was more to him than met the eye._

 “So what would you have me do?” Percival growled defensively, once again forcing himself to stow away his analyzing thoughts for later contemplation, “You make it sound like you want me to desert him, Scamander.”

Scamander turned to face him again.

“Would you?”

“ _Never_!”

The half shouted response came out like a reflex.

For once, it was Scamander who seemed shocked by the sheer confidence and determination in Percival’s voice.

And then – astoundingly -- the corners of Scamander’s mouth curved upward just a smidge.

“Could it really be that you’ve simply grown fond of our Credence, Mr. Graves?”

Percival glared.

He should have known.

Scamander, for all his talk, likely had just wanted to hear him say the words that most thought Percival Graves incapable of.

He wanted him to strip down his carefully constructed mask, and expose the vulnerability that was as elusive as any mythical creature.

Scamander perhaps got some sick satisfaction at the idea of forcing Percival to bend the knee, confessing that Credence was the only other human being he had ever come close to loving. Perhaps, the other man just wanted to watch him beg.

_Could it have been that the unbridled honesty had all just been part of some irritating power play?_

_…Or was Percival now trying to convince himself it was, so that he might categorize this awkward conversation into something he could rationalize more easily?_

_Either way_ \-- he thought to himself begrudgingly -- _it made no difference now._

If that’s what it took… then that’s what it took.

“Yes, Scamander,” Percival forced himself to speak through gritted teeth, “I have grown rather… _fond_ of Credence.”

 _Maybe you should tell him about the disturbingly experienced way he sucks you off at night_ , the inner voice heckled.

He shook his head, pressing on when Scamander merely stood watching him expectantly, “I… I have never really had a family of my own, not many friends.”

Percival cringed at his own admissions, but at this point he supposed he had nothing really left to lose, “I didn’t know Credence that well when I took him in, and I’ll admit that I did it more out of guilt in the beginning. But guilt wasn’t something I was ever really familiar with, and when I felt it at the time I wasn’t sure what to even call it.”

He sighed as his own eyes wandered, roving around cobwebs and the dust bunnies that littered the floor. His voice sounded gradually more distant as he continued to speak, and at a point he wondered if he talking more to himself than anyone in the room.

It was odd -- saying aloud these confessions, when Percival had barely even contemplated any of this before now. And yet -- the thoughts flowed from his lips like truths extracted through some heavy dose of Veritaserum.

“I _knew_ that the fact that Credence could stir this new emotion in me had to mean something… there had to be something about him that was different. He made me want to protect something other than myself, and it was different. And while living with him hasn’t exactly been a piece of cake… I do still want him to stay with me. Because -- he actually -- makes me feel _something_ … whether that something is guilt or affection or –“

Percival stopped short as he felt the word ‘love’ on the tip of his tongue.

It was too heavy a word…at least, for now.

The inner voice taunted:

_…And what about the lust, Percival?_

_Tell him about the lust._

_Tell him about the way you masturbated to the thought of him -- even before you used his affections for Grindelwald to manipulate him into sleeping with you._

_You sick, sick monster…_

Thankfully, however, Scamander didn’t ask him to continue.

The other man nodded in understanding. Whatever assurance he had been looking for had apparently been fulfilled.

“Where is he?” Scamander asked him instead, already seeming to dread the answer.

Percival hung his head slightly, his mouth going dry at the memory of his recent visit, “He’s…in a cell. At MACUSA.”

“I see.”

Scamander grimaced, absent mindedly twirling that same vial between his fingers once more.

 “Well…where would we treat him?”

Percival sighed heavily, trying to ignore the way his stomach grumbled and groan with hunger pains.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten.

“There is a medical ward in MACUSA. Believe me… I tried to negotiate for better but the President insists that we can’t take him out of the facility.”

Scamander nodded.

The magizoologist stuffed the vial he had been holding into one of his coat pockets. He turned around, carefully selecting a few other tools to stow away as well, none of which Percival could even identify -- yet they already made Percival’s hairs stand on end.

They all looked like instruments meant for handling beasts.

“Does your medical ward have proper restraints, Mr. Graves?”

Percival frowned at the question, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Yes, for our more unruly prisoners. Why?”

He excluded adding that they had been a recent addition to the budget -- and Percival’s own idea.

Scamander made it a point to avert his eyes as he responded dryly:

“Oh nothing, I just…well, I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

 


	10. Play With Fire

When they finally arrived, Credence was sober – but whether or not that was a good thing was up for debate.  

For as Credence often is in his normal affect, he was thoroughly frightened.  

"Please Mr. Graves, I want to go home..." he had sobbed miserably into Percival's coat sleeve.  

Beside him, Scamander averted his eyes as though Credence had greeted him with a hungry and open mouthed kiss. Near the entryway of the unkempt ward, Tina coughed loudly.  

Really, he might as well have publicly made out with Percival -- the staff of MACUSA seemed intent on craning their necks to watch the awkward moment, like a gawking audience to some horrible trainwreck.  

"I'm sorry Credence," Percival tried to pry the boy off him gently, "We have to get you better first."  

Suddenly, a throat cleared.  

Seraphina sauntered into the prisoner's wards, the shimmer of her golden robes making her look as regal as ever. Behind her, Abernathy trailed in; footsteps squeaking with the sound of his dragging feet.  

Percival stepped to cover Credence with himself – a move of instinctual protectiveness that Percival knew full well would not do much if Seraphina truly intended to strike the boy.  

As soon as Percival had shifted, he felt Credence's fists ball tightly into the fabric of the back half of his coat. Percival sighed, but didn't pull away.  

Seraphina fixed them with her signature cool gaze: curious, scrutinizing, and intimidating all at the same time. Her lips pursed tightly. 

"I instructed the guards not to let him out until I had arrived."  

Percival could not restrain his smirk as he shot back, "I know you did, Seraphina. I instructed them otherwise."  

His own hands curled into balled fists.  

Neither executive employee looked away -- both refusing to break the deadlock.  

Somewhere in the background, Tina coughed louder.  

"Em..." Scamander chimed in suddenly. The magizoologist flinched as every head seemed to look at him suddenly.  

"...We should probably get this done with, yes?"  

"And what exactly is  _this_?" Seraphina questioned, "Mr. Graves has yet to run me by the details of your plan, Mr. Scamander."  

"Well..." Scamander began. From his expression and tone, he had not been prepared to explain all this in front of such a large audience, but he pressed on anyway, "Plan A is to use a certain combination of potions to... coax the obscurus out of him. Mr. Graves has informed me that you have a medical ward. We'll keep him there, monitor him... and hopefully, that should work."  

Seraphina zeroed in on the careful wording immediately. She replied scathingly, "You say Plan A as though there is a Plan B and so on... meaning, you don't know that Plan A will actually work. Isn't that correct, Mr. Scamander?"  

"...Yes, that is correct Madam President," Scamander answered quickly, his eyes now exploring the details of his own shoes again. Seraphina turned back to Percival.  

" _You_ told me there was a known cure, Mr. Graves... I didn't sign off on this so you could waste valuable MACUSA time and property running some experimental battery of tests."  

"It will work, Seraphina." Percival hissed back with defiance, " _I_ _promise_." 

"...And if it doesn't, Mr. Graves," Seraphina stepped closer, the tone of her voice lowering to a deadly purr, " _What_ are you prepared to offer in compensation for having wasted everyone's time?" 

Percival found himself stepping back, knocking slightly into Credence in the process. Whereas anyone else might have let go in reaction, the grips that pulled at his jacket only tightened further -- as though Percival was some kind of human blanket that Credence was holding onto to hide from the boogeyman.  

The minuscule show of intimidation not unnoticed, Seraphina inched forward even closer -- the president now stood within arm's reach.  

Without her having to speak any further, Percival knew that Seraphina was challenging him to put his job on the line. With his salary, it really would compensate for any hours and resources used on Credence... and then some.  

Yet... the career he had spent his whole life building would be over; gone in a gamble.  

Seraphina squinted her eyes; silently daring.  

 _Are you really willing to go that far, Percival?_  

 _Does this boy – this boy you haven't known for more than a year_ _\--_ _honestly_ _worth that much_ _to you_ _?_  

If this did not work, he would lose not only Credence... but the only other thing that gave Percival Graves' life any meaning. And knowing Seraphina, she would not take to it kindly. It would be very hard to find work in this country with the president of MACUSA holding a grudge against you.  

Percival shut his eyelids momentarily, his stomach dropping with the weight of such a heavy decision.  

He could feel the entire hallway holding their breath in with him.  

Heart hammering, he willed himself to open his eyes back up.  

His life truly  _would_ be meaningless without his job.  

As much as he hated the choice, he knew what he had to do – he knew what the only sensible, logical choice was.  

He swallowed hard, his own mouth dry with dread.  

"This  _will_ work, Seraphina," Percival finally ended up saying in response, "...but if it does not, I give you my promise that you can execute me alongside him or after he perishes, in the event that he does. I...will vow on it if I have to, as I'm sure you don't trust me to not try and run off with the boy and escape. Really... I suppose I wouldn't either."    

No one else within earshot managed to suppress their gasps or hide their surprise -- Percival couldn't see it but off in the corner Tina was openly gaping like a fish yanked out of the water.  

No one except Seraphina, of course. She did seem slightly disappointed, but his oldest friend had otherwise been predictably unfazed by Percival's promise.  

"Very well," she simply gave a slight nod, "…but take Abernathy with you. I would like there to be a witness taking down written record of these tests."  

Percival had not even heard Tina's attempt to speak when Seraphina spun on her heel to face the woman, her lip curling in a snarl.  

"...an  _unbiased_ witness, Ms. Goldstein."  

The pointed correction made Tina withdraw back into herself instantaneously. From his right, he could see Scamander trying to shoot her sympathetic glances.  

Percival restrained a groan. It was not that he thought of Abernathy as anyone particularly malicious, but any additional person who wasn't already familiar with Credence was likely to just complicate things.  

Seraphina cocked her head. Percival knew full well that although he had managed to keep his expression stoic, the president had satisfied her own pettiness with this inconvenience – whether he reacted to it or not.  

"What are you all staring at?" She suddenly lambasted the watching employees with a magically amplified voice, "Get back to work, all of you!"  

Within seconds, the ward was once again filled with universal sounds of office life: people mumbling under their breath, envelopes being ripped open, drawers being pulled out and then closed shut again. By his ear, an accio'ed quill went flying.  

And the president stomped away without another word to them, leaving a nervous looking Abernathy behind. The smaller man seemed in no hurry to accompany them. 

Percival let out a tired sigh, and he turned to look at Credence.  

The boy had been so still, Percival would have forgotten he was there had it not been for the continued pull of fabric against his shoulders.  

And again, the boy was already staring back at him -- eyes widened and fixated.  

 _Dazed, almost._  

Percival felt his concerns for the boy's well-being overtake him, as though he were a man who didn't just sign his own death sentence.  

No... he mustn't think like that.  

It  _will_ work.  

. _..won't it?_  

"Come on Credence.. let's go." Percival interrupted his own troubles by taking Credence by a cold and clammy hand, his thumb rubbing circles into the boy's palm absentmindedly, "We're going to work on getting you out of here, alright my boy?"  

Credence frowned, his expression suddenly apprehensive. 

He muttered timidly, "...Violet said you were going to hurt me."  

Percival bit his bottom lip. His stomach growled, but this time it was with nausea rather than hunger.  

He tightened his hold on Credence's hand as he responded by saying, "Well.. we're going to have a little talk with Violet when we get to the medical ward, okay?"  

He tried to tug at the hand he was holding in an attempt to get Credence to follow him, but the boy seemed frozen on the spot. Credence moaned croakily, "I don't  _want_ you to hurt me... or her."  

Percival looked over at Scamander for help, at a loss to what to say or do.  

Scamander smiled woefully at Credence, putting a hand on Credence's back -- the light haired man rubbed soothing circles around the base of his neck, and Percival was ashamed of the fact that he suddenly felt compelled to rip the said arm off.  

"Credence... we would never want to hurt you," Scamander tried to explain, "...but Violet  _has_ hurt other people, and we can't risk that happening again. What would you do if she hurt Mr. Graves?"  

Credence looked visibly shaken at the proposition, like he had never considered the possibility before. All things considered, he probably hadn't. But still, Credence shook his head after a moment, saying, "Oh no... she would  _never_ hurt Mr. Graves, Mr. Scamander." 

"But how do you know that, Credence?" Scamander asked, humoring him with the gentle voice of a parent explaining that Santa didn't really exist. 

 Percival leaned closer, now curious as to what reason there could possibly be.  

What might grant him immunity from Violet's wrath?  

Credence shrugged slightly, his face going the slightest shade of pink. 

"Well... Ma' did always say the person who took your virginity was a keeper."  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes awkward
> 
> omg so i got vip tickets to a birthday massacre show in june... so excited. (tbm songs were some of the inspiration for this fic, in case anyone didnt know :p)


	11. Shallow Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys get a double feature today since i've been sitting my office for eight god damn hours with nothing to do because LITERALLY THE ENTIRE COMPANY called out sick... except me. 
> 
> fuck me for being healthy right?

"He means Grindelwald!" Percival half shouted for maybe the thirteenth time that day. 

Scamander and Abernathy looked at him as though a man who had lost his mind. Considering earlier events, perhaps they weren't wrong.  

Still... that didn't stop Percival from feeling defensive over it. The walk from the prisoner's ward was a mere 10 minutes long, but their scrutinizing and judgemental stares made it feel like it could have been hours.  

Yet how could he really explain himself without revealing more than Credence might be comfortable with? 

He wasn't sure how much Scamander knew about the intimacies of Credence's relationship with the dark wizard when Percival didn't really know all of it himself.  

He wanted to respect Credence's privacy -- even if the boy had lacked the social tact to return the favor.  

"Let's just focus on the task at hand, shall we?" Scamander said dryly when they had finally reached the ward's door.  

The medical ward in MACUSA was a plain and simple set-up with three hospital beds and a privacy curtain for each.  

It had never exactly been common practice to provide medical treatment to prisoners, and Percival only really had himself to blame for that. The room was more or less maintained in the event that someone they were holding for questioning or something or other had any kind of "medical emergency". As a result of this disuse, much of the equipment they had on hand were dusty and entirely unsanitary. 

Percival wanted to fire whoever was in charge of this operation, and he kept having to remind himself that most everything in MACUSA's dealings with detainees could be traced back to, well, him.  

Scamander motioned for Percival to select a bed. Percival guided Credence other to the edge of the left-most one, his throat seeming to constrict as he instructed the boy: "Get on, Credence." 

Credence obeyed without hesitation, and the small gesture of trust made Percival's stomach twist even more so.  

"The restraints." Scamander reminded Percival, his voice clipped but firm.  

Percival hesitated, his mind trying to wrap itself around the sudden change of character for the Brit. It was the second time Percival had been surprised by Scamander's ability to be blunt, but it was still a rather shocking thing to witness.  

However, the terse expression Scamander showed him in kind told Percival that he was simply trying to get this over with as quickly as possible.  

Meanwhile, Percival was dragging his feet; delaying the inevitable.  

He knew Scamander had the right idea: a quick execution would be better for everyone involved.  

Still, the idea of inflicting even  _more_ pain on Credence was so burdening on Percival, it seemed to immobilize him with the added weight of his already much too heavy guilt. 

He couldn't look at Credence as he twirled his wand in the air, and the sound of magical constraints unwinding themselves broke the silence like the cracking of whips. His heart seemed to drop down to where his stomach had been long ago discarded, as Percival heard the soft gasp that came from behind him.  

The restraints were enchanted to make quick work of binding a bed occupant down.  

Quick, but not necessarily gentle.  

Finally, he looked over to see Credence bound various times over every extremity. Three larger ones were fastened tightly around his waist.  

Credence was looking back at Percival with a stunned, unmistakably hurt stare. He wriggled slightly, but the restraints only tightened in response.  

"Mr. Graves..." the boy whimpered hoarsely but trailed off, apparently unsure of what he should say in this event. He appeared to try moving an arm, and again the binds tightened. Credence let out a sharp gasp. 

These binds were meant to tighten at any attempt to struggle.  

Every twitch, every flex would be answered with an unreasonably painful increase in pressure.  

And suddenly, Percival was having flashbacks of his own captivity – memories of being bound and gagged on a rat-infested floor.  

In the darkness, he heard the pitter patter of scuttling, unseen mice.  

The stench of rotting flesh permeated through the stuffy and humid basement, coming off the corpses of Grindelwald's discarded victims.  

As they decomposed into skeletons, they served no other purpose than to remind Percival that soon he would be amongst them -- once the director outlived his purpose for Grindelwald's plans. 

"I can't," Percival froze up, only now noticing that his chest was heaving rapidly. He stumbled backward, ready to sprint out from the room and finally release the bile that had been steadily climbing up his throat.  

"I can't do this."  

Scamander grabbed him before he could flee, taking a hold of his right forearm.  

He looked sympathetic, but his voice was firm.  

"I know it's hard, Mr. Graves, but you  _have_ to."  

"There is nothing you need me to actually do, is there?" Percival asked him hoarsely, and perhaps a bit too callously.  

"No, not really..." Scamander admitted, "...but I have the feeling things are going to go  _much_ worse without at least your presence here to comfort him. Now, I don't know what you and Credence have been up to behind closed doors and all that, but he  _obviously_ needs you. If he has a panic attack because you aren't here it will be very, very bad for  _all_ of us."  

 _You,_ _e_ _specially – now that you literally threw your own life in as a bargaining chip._  

Scamander didn't say it, but the implication was there, resoundingly so.  

Percival exhaled, trying to will his own adrenaline downwards. Stiffly, he nodded.  

Scamander tried to smile encouragingly, giving his forearm a reassuring squeeze.  

He supposed the magizoolgist wasn't so bad after all. 

"I'm going administer the potion," Scamander announced to no one in particular, extracting the vial from his pocket.  

The black liquid swirled inside it with a perhaps imagined malevolence --- and Percival could not help but compare it to the endless lake of death potion in executions.  

"You should probably hold his hand or... whatever it is you might do to placate him," Scamander suggested rather awkwardly, breaking Percival out of his morbid musings.  

Percival approached the bed, enlisting every ounce of emotional strength he had in him, which in all honesty had never been much.  

Credence's eyes had not left him even for a moment, and they grew more and more afraid with every step forward. Percival had no idea what to tell him -- what he could possibly say to comfort the boy.  

 _It will be alright?_  

It won't be.  

 _I'm not going to hurt you?_  

You literally just did, and you're about to do much worse.  

 _When this is all over, I'll take you to the cinema?_  

If you're both alive, which, given all the circumstances, seems to be growing more and more unlikely. 

Percival grabbed Credence's right hand, and he gripped it tightly. His voice choking on restrained sobs, he said the only thing that he knew for sure, the only thing he knew at this moment in time. 

"My boy, I'm so  _very_ sorry. Please just know that whatever happens... everything I have tried to do is because in the short time we've known each other –  _truly_ known each other -- I have loved you more than anything in my entire, wretched life." 

Perhaps if not for the act they were about to commit, Scamander or Abernathy might have gawked at the candid confession. But Scamander didn't miss a beat as he took the opportunity, firmly prying Credence's jaw open and pouring the dark contents of the uncorked vial inside in a swift motion.  

Abernathy, for his part, sat on the vacant center bed -- his hands and eyes busy with whatever notes he was taking down ( _probably had 'by the way, Percival Graves is apparently a homo' somewhere in there_ ). The squirrelly man looked up from over his parchment, his eyes studying Scamander.  

"...and can you explain what you just gave him and it's purpose, Mr. Scamander?" 

Scamander hesitated, but answered, his eyes still watching Credence carefully, "Well... the obscurus generally doesn't manifest unless the host is put under extreme pressure, both physical and emotional. Credence is unlike any recorded obscurial because he's survived into adulthood, so, unfortunately, I've had to give him a particularly strong dosage to ensure that it works the first time. It would be cruel to give him anything less and run the risk of making him go through unnecessary torment. If it isn't enough to force the obscurus to show itself, it would have been all for nothing."  

 The lights flickered suddenly, and all three occupants of the room seemed to jump in their startlement.  

Abernathy scribbled something down quickly before he asked in a voice that was a slight pitch higher, "The name of the potion, Mr. Scamander? You failed to mention the name."  

The hand that Percival was holding suddenly clamped down with immense force, so much so that Percival let out a yelp of surprise.  

Backing away from the bed and whipping out his wand, Scamander's eyes didn't leave Credence as he explained weakly, "It's a foreign version of the concoction, from Russia, purely experimental of course. Some people call it the drink of despair."  

Before Abernathy could write any further, however, the lights blacked out completely. 

In the darkness that Percival wasn't sure originated from a lack of light, rather than the smoke of a furious obscurus --  Percival could only hear Credence let out a maddening scream.  


	12. Minutes Report 12/1/26 11:17 AM

****

**MAGICAL CONGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA OFFICIAL MINUTES REPORT**

**AUTHOR** : Joseph Abernathy, H.W.P, M.S.O 

 **MEETING DATE AND TIME** : 12/1/26, 11:17 AM 

 **MEETING DURATION** : est. 3 hours 

 

 **MEETING SUBJECT:** First attempt to extract the obscurus from obscurial (presumed wizard) Credence Barebone 

 **MEETING ATTENDEES:** Joseph Abernathy (self), Percival Graves (Director of Magical Security), Newt Scamander (magizoologist), Credence Barebone (obscurial) 

 **RELATIONSHIP OF POSITION TO MEETING SUBJECT** : President requested a neutral witness 

**SUMMARY OF MEETING:**

11:17 AM – The obscurial has been taken into the medical ward, restrained with bindings in typical fashion.  

11: 20 AM – Director Graves seems to be suffering from a minor panic attack. Attempted to leave ward but was stopped and convinced to stay by Mr. Scamander.  

11:23 AM – Director Graves is talking to the obscurial, seems rather upset. It would seem that the Director has a surprising emotional attachment to the obscurial.  

11:30 AM – Mr. Scamander states that he is finally go to administer the potion. As the Director tries to comfort the obscurial, Mr. Scamander opens the obscurial's mouth and pours ~~the~~ po a potion he has dubbed "drink of despair" into the obscurial's open mouth 

11:32 AM – The lights seem to be flickering, but not much reaction otherwise thus far. Both the Director and Mr. Scamander seem very on edge.  

11:35 AM – The o

 

**(PAGE ONE OF TWO)**

 

* * *

 

 

**PAGE BREAK TO DENOTE EMERGENCY INTERRUPTION**

 

 

* * *

 

 

12:40 PM – At around 11:35 AM, the lights went out as the obscurus emerged. Mr. Scamander hit it with a spell, but through all the noises I could not make out the incantation. The obscurial was screaming at the top of his lungs, the Director was yelling what was presumably words of encouragement but again it was hard to tell. This went on for nearly an hour. ~~It was rather frightening and I'd rather not do this again, Seraphina.~~ Multiple objects around the room either cracked or shattered. Finally, Mr. Scamander seemed to find a spell that worked. The obscurus seemed to freeze momentarily before being sucked into what appeared to be a glass mason jar that Mr. Scamander brought with him. 

12:50 PM – After everyone seems to have recovered from the shock of what just happened, the Director has noticed that the obscurial boy is no longer breathing. He appears to be in a state of panic, and Mr. Scamander is now trying (and failing) to calm him down.  

12:51 PM – The director has attempted multiple healing spells, Mr. Scamander insists that trying to use them all at once will hurt the obscurial more than help, but Director appears to be ignoring him. He is remarkably desperate, and I believe some kind of mental wellness evaluation should be performed on him soon as this is disturbingly uncharacteristic.  

12:54 PM  - The healing spells don't seem to be working, and now the Director seems to be turning on Mr. Scamander. Currently, they are screaming at each other. Its hard to make out exactly what they're saying because quite honestly the Director appears to be incoherent, but I think the Director is actually trying to persuade Mr. Scamander into putting the obscurus back into the obscurial. ~~Very disturbing indeed.~~

 

1:01 PM – It seems like they might actually start exchanging blows. Even Mr. Scamander is now losing his temper, calling the director a "sick man". I'm wondering if I should intervene. ~~Or leave.~~  

1:12 PM – The obscurial wakes up, everyone is startled.  

1:13 PM – Good god, the Director is openly weeping from relief and I am more concerned than ever.  

1:20 PM- The obscurial seems extremely weakened but otherwise unscathed. He's bleeding from a few skin tears caused by the binds, but it is some very simple spells wouldn't fix. Mr. Scamander seems in a shock that the obscurial managed to survive. It's almost as if he didn't expect the obscurial to survive. ~~Dare I say disappointed, even?~~  

1:22 PM – There is some hushed conversation between the three I can't quite make out. I'm trying to get a better view of the obscurial, or better yet a word with him, but the Director keeps blocking him from me.  

1:40 PM – Per the presidents instructions, I send word to her that the procedure is over.  

1:50 PM – The president arrives, makes some rather snide remarks about the director managing to have saved his own skin. Mr. Scamander declares the procedure a success. Based

1:55 PM - Based on the President's evaluation, the obscurial seems to be left with the magical ability of maybe a squib but otherwise in passable health.  

2:00 PM – The Director requests he stay the night for observation. The President denies. Interestingly, Mr. Scamander agrees with the President on the grounds that the obscurial should have time to rest. The Director looks displeased, but does not argue further. Based on everything I have witnessed today, I am willing to bet the Director plans on sneaking in at some point anyway.  

2:10 PM – The president pulled me aside to ask that I stay behind and continue to take minutes until the night nurse arrives. I consent. I sit with the obscurial but opt not to approach him. Despite the opinions of the others, he still looks rather unwell to me.  

2:13 PM – The obscurial has started talking to himself. It is highly unsettling.  

2:17 PM – The night nurse arrives. ~~Thank the heavens.~~ Meeting adjourned.  

**MEETING CONCLUDED. REPORT ENDS.**

**(PAGE TWO OF TWO)**


	13. Imaginary Monsters

"How is he?" 

Percival tried to sound as collected as possible as he greeted the fretful night nurse, but he could already see with his naked eye that any honest answer would be an upsetting one.  

In the short span of hours Percival had been gone, Credence seemed to have wilted rather than recovered. The boy's already pallor skin looked even more sallow, his breathing audible through strained sputtered and labored gasps. His eyelids were shut, but by the wrinkles and creases on them, it was hard to tell if he was asleep or if they were screwed shut out of pain.  

"Not well, Mr. Graves," the night nurse pointed out the obvious, but Percival managed to restrain himself from being snide about it.  

For once in his life, Percival had found himself in a situation where not even his own sharp wit felt appropriate.  

For the Director of Magical Security, that was a bold statement.  

The night nurse was a young, peckish thing. A lovely head of long blonde hair -- but not much else to look at. She must have been maybe 23, 24 maybe? Percival couldn't remember much of the personnel  file besides the fact that they stuck her with the graveyard shift because her resume had been the least impressive of the few medical hires MACUSA maintained.  

It perhaps said something about Percival that he remembered her inexperience before he could recall her name.  

 _Anna, perhaps?_  

 _Annabelle?_  

 _Close enough._   

Anna hovered over Credence as she elaborated, "To be straight with you, Mr. Graves, we can't figure out why he's getting worse rather than better. All his vitals seem to dropping, way past stable. At one point, he complained of some pain but seemed too distraught to point out  _what_ exactly was hurting. I tried to give him a little something to take the edge off, and he did calm down for a little while, but I'm not sure how much longer that’s gonna hold him. He's already showing signs of the drugs wearing off."  

Percival could say nothing after Anna had finished speaking, he only stared awkwardly as she cleaned up the area for the end of her shift. He knew if he were to speak, he would likely just become choked up again, let slip his vulnerability once more. 

Thankfully, Anna seemed to be uncomfortable enough without Percival having a full blown breakdown in front of her. She waved her wand and packed away her personal belongings in haste, her blue eyes never quite looking up to meet Percival's even as she bid him farewell, the heavy ward door slamming behind her with a sharp thud.  

Last year's Percival might have noticed that she left thirty minutes before the end of her designated shift, but this Percival...  _t_ _h_ _i_ _s_ Percival found that he was merely grateful for the private moment it granted them.  

It was hardly enough time to cuddle and cradle Credence like Percival yearned to do, but it was enough time for him to stand just a bit closer to his bedside -- to reach out, raking a hand through Credence's currently very greasy scalp.  

Sadly, Percival smiled down at him.  

"You need a shower, my boy."  

Credence made no move to acknowledge that he had heard, perhaps too doped up to even feel the fingers that scratched at the top of his head.  

 _Perhaps_ , it was better that way.  

Whatever it said of his character, Percival found it much easier to talk when he knew the words were falling on deaf ears.  

Similar to the way he had always boasted aloud at the corpses of fallen enemies, Percival rambled to Credence with the kind of genuine emotions he could only show in solitude. 

"Once you get better, I'll take you to Ilvermorny..." Percival crooned gently as his hand descended down to cup the side of Credence's right cheek.  

He grabbed hard with the hopes that by increasing the pressure of  his grip, perhaps some of the comfort and affection might break through the wall of painkillers, or sedatives, or whatever else they gave him.  

"Maybe Mrs. Grouner will allow you to even sit in on a transfiguration class. You would love it, I'm sure."  

 _This is not how this was supposed to go._  

Percival was supposed to walk in here, and Credence was supposed to be fine.  

 _He was supposed to be better._  

He was supposed to tell Percival about how he could no longer hear the wretched whispering that seemed to haunt him at every turn, how he felt maybe tired.... but much,  _much_ better overall.  

Isn't that why he had endured putting Credence through such an awful procedure? 

Isn't that why Percival had literally bargained with his own life?  

Isn't that why Percival had restrained himself from striking Newt Scamander down when Credence had stopped breathing -- because he knew Credence would be upset if he regained consciousness to see two of his friends entangled in some brawl?  

He had done all that... and all Percival had wanted was for Credence to be better.  

 _So..._ _why wasn't he?_  

Numb to the tears falling freely down his own face, Percival continued to talk.  

"Mrs. Grouner was always... very fond of me. I think she'd like you too. But even if she doesn't let you do a sit in, I promise theres lots to see around Ilvermorny anyway. There's all these different bakeries and restaurants, foods I'm sure you've probably never heard of... but I think you'll enjoy. You're pretty adventurous, aren't you my boy? I promise we'll try every place we have time to try... except maybe Ms. Smiths, but she's a bitch anyway." 

Percival chuckled at his own commentary, trying to ignore the way the laugh came out as half a sob.  

"You deserve to see Ilvermorny more than half the people there, Credence," Percival whispered dolefully, his thumb now rubbing small circles around the lining of Credence's jaw.  

The skin felt warm with possible fever.  

Before Percival could say much more, he heard the ward door open again. 

He did his best to gather himself, training his anguished expression back into it's usual, stoic mask. Spinning around, he expected to come face to face with one of the day shift nurses. 

 Instead, he was startled to see Scamander leering at him from a few feet away. 

The magizoologist's eyes rested on the hand Percival was using to stroke Credence's face, which the Auror only now realized he had yet to withdraw. Heat rose to his face, but Percival still found himself unable to remove it, as though he was stuck by means of some invisible, emotional glue.  

Unfortunately, before Percival could get out a single word (and he had  _many_ words to say to Scamander at the moment), two more people quickly scurried inside the room: 

The Goldstein sisters. Although... it had been hard to tell for a second or two. 

What Percival had first perceived was more of a swift blur of blue robes, following by a sharp sting a as Tina Goldstein delivered a hard slap across his face.  

Again, it was the surprise of the blow that stunned him more than anything.  He damn near fell backwards on the bed where Credence lay, and he had to grab onto the bed rails while the other hand came to cradle the spot that she had swatted him reflexively.  

"What the fuck?!?" Percival screamed at her, only noticing then that her own face was contorted by a rare sort of torment.  

Behind Tina, Queenie and Scamander seemed to keep their distance, but they both watched him with eyes that lacked much sympathy.  

"You sick bastard..." Tina seethed through gritted teeth, and Percival realized.  

His head shot up to turn his sights on Scamander, who to his credit did not shy away from the accusing glare.  

"You told her?!?"  Percival bellowed at the magizoologist louder than he should have, but it was hard to control his own climbing fury and frustration at the situation. He wasn't sure why he would have ever thought Scamander would have kept his secrets, after he himself stated that he did not consider Percival a friend.  

Yet somehow, Percival still managed to feel betrayed. 

Scamander took another few seconds to respond. He seemed to be conflicted as to what exactly he might say, but when he finally did speak Percival understood what should have already been obvious.  

"No, Mr. Graves, I didn't." Scamander spoke softly, but his voice was devoid of much remorse or apology. Scamander's eyes shifted over to Queenie as he admitted, "Unfortunately though, it was a little hard to stop thinking about it."  

Percival glanced at Queenie, and her eyes greeted him with uninhibited condescension.  

Deciding he would just have to have a word with the blonde Goldstein later on, Percival rounded back on Tina, who seemed about ready to strike him all over again. 

"There's been a misunderstanding," Percival tried to explain calmly, but he knew it was only half truth.  

The man who took Credence's virginity  _was_ Gellert Grindelwald, wearing Percival's face. 

...but the man who took him to bed  _now_ was still Percival Graves.  

 _Real Percival Graves._  

 _They_ _just..._ _looked_ _the same._  

And sometimes, Credence liked to refer to them both as the same person.  

Credence also liked to talk to himself... and make up imaginary monsters. It was hardly the biggest priority they should be focusing on right now.  

Tina seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Percival took the opportunity to explain.  

"Look, I do believe Grindelwald and Credence's relationship had been a bit more sexual in nature than previously thought. That is who Credence was referring to." 

Tina's eyes widened, a little more horrified and just a bit more doubtful. Doubtful of what – however -  Percival couldn't say.  

Visibly shaken, Tina asked, "How did you find this out?" 

Percival's mind flashed back to when they had first been intimate, on that fateful night when Credence had come to him crying about phantom voices in the dark.  

He recalled with a twisted sense of nostalgia the first time Credence had sucked on his open neck. 

Percival's heart twisted as could see Credence taking him into his mouth with the expertise of someone who was already familiar with their partner's body -- and all the best ways to pleasure it.  

 _Because he was familiar._  

 _Very familiar._  

From behind Tina, Queenie seemed to breathe in sharply – but Percival couldn't say if it was imagined or not. He liked to think he was better occlumens than that.  

"Tina, please." Percival rasped out wearily, not deluding himself into hoping that no one would notice the pointed way he avoided answering directly, "I do care deeply for Credence and I believe he feels the same attachment to me. He did have prior relations with Grindelwald, and he may have some left over feelings... but I have been doing my best to help him get over..." 

"Get over?!?" Tina repeated, somehow still appalled by his reply anyway, "And how exactly have you helped him get over anything, Mr. Graves? If you knew that Grindelwald had sexually abused him using  _your_ face, how in God's name did you not try and find him someone else to live with? Why didn't tell me, or Newt, or  _anyone_? How could possibly turn a blind eye, when the poor boy obviously needed help for something you never bothered to mention?!"  

Abruptly, she was drowned out as Percival half screamed back, "Don't you  _dare_ accuse me of turning a blind eye! I haven't slept in fucking days, Tina! I haven't slept because I  _can't_  fucking sleep, because the only human being I have given even a sliver of a shit about is sick and may be dying, because of  _your_ fucking boyfriend!  _And you know what?!?_  I honestly don't fucking care if it  _is_ Grindelwald he's in love with! I don't give a shit if he looks and me and sees him, because it's become abundantly clear that everyone else already feels that way anyway! His feelings for Grindelwald don't change my feelings for him!"  

Percival exhaled slowly as he forced his voice to lower, at least to an octave that didn't guarantee that anyone within the next five miles might overhear, "...His feelings for Grindelwald don't stop me from hoping that one day, after years of being together – after years of showing him the love that he truly deserves ---  _maybe_ he'll look at me and see me for me. If I can achieve that with him --  out of anyone else that I know or ever will know -- then that will be enough for me. And  I really don't give a  _damn_ about your disapproval of that, Tina."  

If the show of honesty fazed Tina at all, she didn't let it slow her down.  

Her eyes still burned with some kind of maternal protectiveness. They looked upon Percival as a predator out to devour her son. Out of everything Percival Graves had been to the younger woman – for just this moment – he was nothing more and nothing less.  

She jabbed a finger on his chest, tears brimming in her eyes as she spoke, "Then you are as selfish as ever, Mr. Graves... allowing Credence to remain confused just so you can fulfill your own twisted view of what  it means to be validated as a human being.  Just like Grindelwald, you're still just using him for your own stupid purposes."  

Perhaps Queenie could tell that Percival was about to grab Tina by her pompous finger and swiftly snap it half, because she chose that moment to interrupt, clearing her throat as loudly as her high voice could probably muster.  

Both Percival and Tina whipped around to turn to her with undoubtedly irate expressions.  

Unintimidated, she pointed her own slender finger at Credence. 

She stated scoldingly, "You two should really take this outside. You're upsetting him." 

Percival stomach-- what was left at this point -- churned with a fresh wave of nausea. 

"He's asleep," he stated with unmistakable uncertainty. He looked over his shoulder at Credence, who seemed in the same state as when Percival had last checked on him. 

Queenie shook her head slowly, like it was some obvious thing that she was having to explain to a child or someone mentally incapacitated.  

"Oh no honey, he hasn't been asleep since we walked in. It was just kind of hard to hear what he was trying to say over all the screaming." 


	14. To Die For

Percival turned around to rake another hand through Credence's hair, his fingers pressing firmly into the scalp.  

Fuck anyone who was watching – if Credence truly was awake, then Percival wanted to show him some reassuring gesture as soon as he was able.  

"Darling, can you hear me?"  

Beside him, Tina recoiled. She had likely never heard her superior using such cheesy terms of endearment before. With Tina's naturally awkward personality, Percival would assume she found it rather cringey at the very least.  

Percival doubted if she would ever use the same on her husband or, well, whoever the hell else the girl might have an eye for --- Percival didn't know her personal preferences, and honestly it wasn't something he cared to look into. It's just never been of concern to him.  

Credence perhaps twitched a little... but other than that, he seemed locked in the unconscious yet strained position he had been in since Percival walked in this morning.  

As if reading his thoughts, Queenie spoke up instead. She frowned, "He says he can hear you, but it hurts too much to talk back." 

"What hurts?" Percival asked gently, his eyes still not leaving Credence even though Queenie was acting as their medium.  

Queenie said distantly, her own soft voice lined with sadness and sympathy, "Everything."  

Percival swallowed, unsure of how to respond to that.  

The carnal thing inside him growled with frustration -- likely some of the most powerful frustration he has ever felt in his whole life. From the looks of Credence, he knew it was an honest answer. The boy just looked so helpless, and it made Percival feel helpless in turn.  

 _And what do_ _trapped animals do when they feel_ _helpless?_  

 _...when they feel t_ _rapped?_  

 _...when they feel scared?_  

 _…_ _...They lash out, of course._  

Percival spinned around and the fury that bled off him must have shown -- Scamander, Queenie, and Tina all seemed to jump slightly in reaction. 

" _You_ did this," Percival hissed, stepping away from Credence and towards Scamander. Scamander took a step back, and his hand seemed to inch a little closer to his wand. Yet Percival kept advancing, his voice gradually rising, " _You_ told me he would be better!"  

Exhaustion making his voice sound callous, Scamander replied by saying, "I said I would get the obscurus out. I warned you it would be dangerous. To be completely honest, I am rather surprised that Credence managed to survive at all."  

"Well put the obscurus back in!" Percival growled, his logic and reasoning going haywire and jumbled in his brewing desperation, "Put it back in, or I will take it back from you by force."  

"How dare you threaten him!" Tina pitched in scathingly, "He's has shown more concern for this boy than you have ever, Mr. Graves." 

"Get out."  

Finally, Queenie had chimed in.  

She eyed them all with distaste, her arms crossed against her chest.  

"Tell Credence --" Percival began to say, but Queenie cut him off. 

"Oh no honey," She said, although there was nothing as sweet as honey in her voice, "It's not Credence. It's  _me_. I am telling all three of you to  _get out_. Just because he doesn't have the obscurus to blow up when he's upset does not mean we should start getting inconsiderate to his feelings now -- and he doesn't  care for your bickering. Get out, argue outside the room, and come back when you all feel like acting like adults."  

Tina gaped at her sister, appalled and surprised that she would address her in such a stern manner, even if it was directed at others as well.  

But neither Percival, Scamander, or Tina did not need to be legilimens themselves to hear the serious edge of her voice -- the one that could send a chill down anyone's spine. They knew she meant business, and a skilled legilimens is just someone you didn't want to seriously piss off – at least not one you saw on a regular basis.  

They obeyed without question, each of them literally dragging their feet on the way out. 

The medical ward led out into a relatively simple hallway, so Percival beckoned them over to a supply closet where they might be able to talk in private.  

Although largely unused, the supply closet was really more of a supply room – much more spacious than necessary, but home to many private conversations and the occasional private blow job between MACUSA employees. 

Unfortunately, today they were using it for the former.  

Scamander was the first to break the tense silence, leaning against the broad side of one of the many hardwood cabinets.  

"Putting the obscurus back is insane, Mr. Graves." He said calmly but bluntly, "We have no idea what that would do, and I'm honestly not sure we want to find out if it might do anything at all. It's not an organ, you can't just transplant it back in."  

"I don't know," Percival shook his head, frustration slowly abating down into his usual numbness, "I just know he was better before this. We don't even know if it fixed his hallucinations. I realize that getting the obscurus out had been no easy  task, Scamander... but so far we have yet to prove if it had really been the problem to begin with." 

Scamander quirked an eyebrow, "You don't think it was the problem? You don't think the thing that  _killed_ one of your own coworkers in front of all of MACUSA -- you don't think that that might have been the problem?" 

"Smith drugged him!" Percival snapped back, feeling defensive towards the comment even though it didn't actually place blame on anyone, "The bastard spiked Credence's drink, and he deserved everything he got. Trust me, I would give  _anything_ to have been the one to off him instead."  

Tina and Scamander both winced at the new information, and Percival could not help but feel some satisfaction at the way neither seemed to have a retort. 

 Percival paced back and forth, wondering what kind of psychic conversations Queenie and Credence might be having now.  

He was debating the idea of walking back to Credence – if the arguing was all it was, there was no real reason all three of them should have had to leave the room – when Scamander's heavy British accent piped up once more.  

"What if..." He spoke with the absent voice of someone who was talking more to themselves than anyone else, "...what if the obscurus was somehow what was keeping him alive? I mean, we all marveled as to how he had survived the obscurus for so long... we all think of obscurus and obscurial as parasite to host... but what if the reason Credence has survived so long is because somehow, at some point, it became the other way around? What if the parasite ate at so much of Credence, there was not much of Credence left by the time we ripped it out?" 

"That wouldn't explain the hallucinations," Tina reminded them, but Percival shot her a glare. 

"And the hallucinations are hardly our priority right now. Credence is  _dying_ , Tina." He spat.  

Tina only glared back, "Wasn't aware you had become such an expert on the anatomy and physiology of obscurials, Mr. Graves."  

"Neither of you are," Scamander addressed them scoldingly, "Anyway, I still don't know. It's completely uncharted territory, but... so is any of this, really." 

"So you agree to put the obscurus back in him?" Percival tried to sound patient, but in Scamander's expression he could only find apprehension and perhaps imagined suspicion.  

"I never said that," Scamander muttered lowly, and Percival could feel the carnal thing poking an eye out of it's burrow, claws itching.  

It came out as a quiet hiss, "Why not? If you agree that could be what's -- " 

"Mr. Graves, Credence  _is_ a danger," Scamander snapped, "It is not an easy decision to make, it never will be. I don't know what  will happen if I try to put the obscurus back in. I don't know what could happen to Credence or the obscurus if it fails. And if it succeed... I don't know what might happen to anyone else, or Credence, or the obscurus for that matter. I really don't know what this might do to anyone, if anything at all. I am not definitely saying no, Mr. Graves... but it is something we will have proceed with extreme caution, and let me make this abundantly clear: logically, the safer choice for all of us  _might_ be to consider the extraction a success -- but just like I did with the Sudaneese girl, you  _may_ have to accept that Credence didn't make it. I'm only sorry that for whatever reason, Credence continued to live past the procedure but no... that does not mean he isn't still dying." 

Beside them, Tina started to cry -- yet neither man would break the shared, heated eye contact.  

Between both, fists were clenched and jaws tightened.  

As he spoke, Percival's own fists trembled violently from his poorly contained rage. On the shelves of the cabinets, supplies moved from the subtle tremor of a wizard's fury.  

"This is about that damn graphorn, isn't it?" Percival laughed darkly, "Don't give me that shit, Scamander. You don't give a rats ass about the people he endangers, you've never given a rats ass about any human your creatures have endangered! You're just pissed because you blame him for one of the deaths of your creatures, and now you're taking out on him by allowing him to die – trying to pass him off as some acceptable casualty!" 

"Mr. Graves," Scamander did not scream back, but his voice was heavy with warning, "You are hysterical, and you  _need_ to think about this rationally." 

"Do you think Seraphina will let him stay here?"  

Both men startled at the interruption of Tina's voice, still unsteady and tearful.  

They turned to her and she elaborated, "We would need the restraints and the medical  supplies here, at the very least. But with Credence not technically a threat anymore, Seraphina might not let us use the ward for much longer."  

Percival sighed, "Yes, I've thought of that. We may... have to lie." 

"Lie? To who?" Tina questioned, and they both ignored how Scamander looked confused – likely wondering why Tina was talking as though this is was an agreed plan of action rather than a theory.  

"To Seraphina," Percival smiled at her humorlessly, "We tell her that it didn't work after all – that we saw the obscurus manifest itself again, at least a little. And that we need to run a couple more tests." 

"But..." Tina hesitated, but Percival could venture a guess as to what she was about to say. 

"I know," Percival nodded solemnly, "It puts my head back on the chopping block. Maybe if I convince her that we did make some progression though, she'll grant us a bit more time to work some of the rest out. I'll make the vow then and there... to give her some kind of payment upfront like I know she'll want."  

"Mr. Graves," Scamander seemed to find his voice again suddenly, "This is absolutely insane, you --" 

"You told me you'd give your life for that boy," Percival shot back, and Scamander seemed caught off guard by the abrupt reminder, "So prove it." 

"There are others to think about," Scamander growled back, but Percival did not hesitate.  

"There always has been, Scamander. Don't act like the obscurus didn't have blood on it's hands back at the train station when you tried to coax Credence down. You cared then... even after it killed Shaw and who knows who else. So prove that you give a shit now."  

Before Scamander could retaliate, Tina rounded on him for once.  

When she spoke to him however, her tone was gentle and pleading: 

"Please, Newt. Let's just try everything we can."  

Scamander looked ready to voice more arguments, but finally he paused. He pursed his lips together; chapped and dry from lack of hydration. After another moments hesitation -- tentatively -- he nodded in surrender.  

Tina turned around to look at Percival, a small smile playing at her lips.  

Percival wanted to smile back, but could not.  

Of course, he knew Scamander made sense.  

Percival knew that with  _anyone_ else, he would have agreed with Scamander's position immediately.  

It was fine to believe that a hardened heart could use some softening through means of another human being – someone to love and care about.  

But it was another thing for someone to make you  _so_ weak, that you find yourself risking not only your own life but the lives of others just to hold on to them.  

To both his rational and emotional sides, it was worrying that he has gone from former to latter. Percival didn't quite know what to make of that.  

"There's only one other thing we need to worry about," Tina spoke up again, breaking Percival's train of thought. 

"What's that?" Percival asked in a voice that probably sounded as unfocused as he felt.  

But before she could answer, Percival again realized what she was referring to, and they both said the name aloud simultaneously: 

"Abernathy."  


	15. Lovers End

_One_.

Credence and Percival stood outside the wand shop.

They held hands with tight grips -- Credence’s palm heavily coated with sweat.

The Angel’s Wand Boutique was one not far from Ilvermorny, in America’s own version of Diagon Alley. It was not quite as big as Ollivander’s… at least, from the outside, which is the only time Percival’s ever seen Britain’s most famous wand shop.

“Go on then… you’ll do fine my boy,” Percival nudged Credence gently, encouragingly. He knew the boy was nervous – particularly by the way the boy had asked “What if none of the wands want me, Mr. Graves?”

And Percival had prepared for that possibility -- but although the director was strictly atheist, something above gave him a sense of faith. Credence, for all his prayers and suffering, must have earned some kind of guardian angel by now.  

He certainly hoped so.

Credence had been trying to turn him to the ways of Christianity for some time now. Percival typically hated people who imposed their religion onto others, but Credence did it in such a gentle way. The boy never imposed so much as suggested, and Percival had from time to time agreed to tag along with him for the occasional Sunday service.

It was something he strictly did for Credence’s sake, of course.

Finally, Percival felt cold air hit his hand as Credence let go and stepped forward. Credence turned the bronze doorknob, pushing the door in to reveal a rather chaotic storefront -- wands stuffed in narrow boxes piled in random areas, and the dust they kicked up by merely stepping inside made Percival cough.

“Can we help you?” A plain looking blonde girl --- the Angel’s youngest daughter Genesis --- scurried up to the counter at the sounds of potential customers.

Percival smiled, cupping a hand onto Credence’s shoulder. He squeezed down on it reassuringly before he answered her, knowing Credence was not about to do the same. He could imagine it had been daunting enough to enter the building, the poor thing.

“Yes,” Percival exclaimed proudly, “We’d like to buy a wand from this young lad here, please.”

 

* * *

 

_Two._

If Percival had been worried about how Credence might fare at Ilvermorny, those same concerns had been quickly buried.

Of course… it probably helped that Percival Graves was a man with many connections and many friends, and he had used damn near every single one of them to make sure that Credence would be treated well there.

The boy had been too old to go as a student, obviously. But as it would have it Mrs. Grouner found that she was in desperate need of a teaching aide. She had been getting a little old in age, and she needed some help keeping up with some of the rowdier children.

Credence had been eager to learn, but initially insisted he wanted to stay with Percival.

He would miss him far too much, Credence had cried and whined.

And it honestly had broken Percival’s heart to insist -- but he knew it was far too dangerous to just allow Credence spend out the rest of his days in their brownstone.

Without the obscurus, Credence needed to find some way to defend himself…. Even with Grindelwald out of the picture, Percival had many enemies. He could not understate just how many times Percival has worried about the possibility Credence could be taken as some kind of hostage or made a target for the revenge of some other scorned criminal.

And now that Credence finally had his own wand, they both knew it was time.

While it may have been true that the magic left in Credence was a sliver of a thing at best, the fact was that if Credence could find something at Ilvermorny that could be useful for surviving the wizarding world, Percival knew it was something they had to do.

They had both just tried to comfort themselves with the facts that they would write each other daily -- multiple times in one day at times – and of course, the fact that they would see each other again on holiday… such as Christmas.

The initial reunion, as you might imagine, had been magical in its own way – magical in the way known to both No Maj and wizard, and any other living thing that has ever known true love.

Percival greeted him at the train station, much more nervous than he thought he’d be.

There were all kinds of self-doubts and worries buzzing through his head, but mainly:

Will he notice how much older I’ve gotten?

Of course, anyone watching objectively would tell Percival that he was being downright silly.

It had only been a matter of months, and the increase in the wrinkles on his face or the grey in his hair were microscopic at best.

Yet when Credence finally emerged from the swinging doors of the station, his self-consciousness gave way to awe at Credence’s own beauty.

 The boy had blossomed more beautifully than any existing flower ever could. The long locks of black hair nearly glistened in the sheen from the daylight – instead of draping down his shoulders like ragged curtains, they curled slightly at the ends, the curls bouncing as he walked.

His overall physique was just a bit plumper, to the point where he finally looked healthy. He was talking with some other student, probably the Theodore that Credence had mentioned in a few of his letters.

Percival had made it a point to remember the names of everyone Credence mentions in his letters… but don’t think too hard about that.

Theodore waved goodbye, and they separated ways. As Credence turned to where Percival stood, Percival only noticed then the way his heart pounded against the walls of his chest with the thrum of an anchor hitting the ocean floor repeatedly.

Credence had an odd sort of look on his face as he took in the fact that Percival was truly stranding right in front of him; a mere few feet away. But thankfully it was quickly replaced by the widest grin Percival had ever seen on the boy, and Percival found he could do nothing but fixate on it as Credence broke into a sprint, finally clashing into Percival as they embraced each other tightly.

Secretly, both men held back tears.

 “I missed you so much, Percy.” Credence muttered into the collar of Percival’s coat.

Percival chortled, savoring the aroma of Credence’s cinnamon scented shampoo. He raked his hand through the slightly tangled black mane, his fingers pressing hard against Credence’s scalp as they traced circles in hungry affection.

“Oh Credence… You have no idea how much I have missed you.”

They pulled apart, knowing it would not be in anyone’s best interest to make a big scene here.

Their feelings of euphoria and bliss at their reunion would sadly have to wait for a more private moment – but thankfully, home was just a few minutes of apparition away.

Thank god for magic.

 “You ready to have your first Christmas, my boy?” Percival asked him with a small smile.

He knew Credence has had Christmas’ before, but he meant a real Christmas – one complete with candy canes and a Christmas tree, hot cocoa and maybe some alcoholic egg nog.

And sex… lots of sex.

…But also some mistletoe and presents too.

Percival was hardly one for the Christmas spirit, but he was excited at the prospect of showing Credence what Christmas was truly meant to be.

So naturally, he had spent the past few weeks preparing for all of the above.

Credence shrugged with the air of an adolescent who felt they were too cool for such childish things, but his eyes still twinkled with pure excitement.

“As long as it’s with you, Percy… I’m ready for anything,” the boy smiled, and Percival knew he had meant every word.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t more than a day after homosexual marriage became legal in the wizarding world that Percival Graves proposed to Credence Barebone.

As they sat on the pier (Credence had found that he had this irksome love for beaches. Percival for one hated beaches, but it was no huge matter), Percival made sure that everything was perfect.

The mood was right – as Credence loved to do, he sat at the edge of the pier, gazing up a blanket of twinkling stars.

The tide was calm, and noises of the ocean’s soft rippling made for a soothing and overall pleasant atmosphere.

They had just had a lavish meal at one of the pier’s restaurants, and Credence was slightly red from the wine he had drunk so heartily. Percival didn’t mind – he had to pour down a couple of shots of vodka considering what he was about to do… and it still hadn’t done all that much to calm his nerves.

It’s now or never, Percival thought to himself, sighing loudly.

Credence, as always, was able to pick up on the weight of the sigh. He could probably read Percival’s body language no matter how drunk he was -- damn kid never missed a beat.

“What’s wrong, Percy?”

Credence turned to him, and Percival could see the light of the blue moon reflected in the darks of his eyes.

While Percival had previously thought that he had just been overwhelmed by the moment of that first reunion after he had sent Credence off to Ilvermorny, Percival had soon come to learn that he would always be awed by the sight of Credence happy and in good health.

Years later, the face he now woke up to on a regular basis still took his breath away.

After Percival forced himself to remember where he was and what he needed to do, he stuck his hand in a coat pocket, feeling the small jewelry box.

Percival knew that Credence had no particular love for rings, but seemed rather fond of necklaces – and a necklace is what rattled in the box now.

He wasn’t one for cheesy speeches or grand proposals.

 Percival could only hope that all the effort he had put in to save this relationship was statement enough of his sincerity. And he knew that Credence had long since come into his own -- that the boy had grown past the point where he needed constant reassurance that he was loved.

So instead of all the things he might have said, Percival chose this:

“Credence,” Percival smiled at him, his voice soft and gentle with affection, “Will you drop that god awful last name and marry me?”

And for the first time in a long time, Credence burst into tears.

Yet, Percival continued to smile -- his own eyes watering as Credence took the necklace from the velvet lining.

Because he knew that finally… Credence was crying tears of joy.

Too overwhelmed to speak properly, Credence nodded, clutching the necklace close to his chest. Percival pulled him close and rocked him gently, listening to distant sound of the seagulls that cried out to the evening sky.

It will be midnight soon.

They should go home.

_Three._

 

* * *

 

Percival gasped as he yanked his head out of the penseive’s waters.

A fourth memory began to play, but he did not have time to watch more.

He took the vial from the pocket of his pants, watching sullenly as the false memories slivered into the empty container.

He had been working on these for a while… but had prayed to a certain (clearly) fictional deity that he would have the time to create even more replicas of his very own hopes and dreams. But now that time frame, as it so happens, appeared to be getting shorter and shorter by the minute.

Credence continued to worsen -- his whole body seemed determined to give up all together.

If Credence was going to go, Percival was determined to make sure he did so with good memories.

The boy didn’t need to know how this ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ouch now even I'm sad :(


	16. Show and Tell

Percival watched the silver stream of fabricated memories transfuse itself into Credence’s mind - it wormed its way through the hollow of his right ear, like the physical manifestation of a comforting whisper.

Queenie had informed them that she could no longer hear Credence’s thoughts - meaning he was either unconscious or asleep. While they had all hoped it was a bit of restful shut eye that Credence had finally achieved, the gradual and continued drop in vital signs told them it was probably the first thing.

And so - unable to talk to him through the medium of the blonde Goldstein sister - Percival could only hope that he could reach the boy this way instead – by offering the illusions of everything that should have been.

Behind him, Abernathy spoke up, but Percival didn’t turn around.

He knew Abernathy had been there, but at this point – honestly - Percival didn’t feel like he much cared who saw what. His career was already long gone down the drain anyway. Perhaps soon, his life would be too -- depending on how things went with Credence, he was starting to find that notion to be more of a comfort than a fear.

“Mr. Graves… what are you doing?” Abernathy had squeaked meekly from the chair where he was undoubtedly continuing to jot down notes for Seraphina.

Percival sighed and answered with unrestrained honesty, “I’m… I’m putting some falsified memories in his mind. Some nice ones.”

“ _Why_?”

Percival looked over his shoulder at the smaller man.

Joseph Abernathy had originally applied for the job of Auror, but hadn’t quite made the cut.

He was a failure of a fighter… but it had been Percival who had convinced Seraphina that the squirrely man may still be of some use yet. It was an unusual show of compassion, and to this day Percival still wasn’t entirely sure why he had wasted valuable breath trying to save the twerp’s job.

Yet… here they were. Abernathy, as Percival had thought, blossomed in damn near every other department MACUSA had an open position in. It wasn’t really that he was great at anything, but likewise he had proven himself a well enough jack of all trades. Seraphina never said it out loud, but he could tell that she did enjoy having the human equivalent of a swiss army knife around.

But Percival had been the only reason he stayed on the MACUSA payroll to begin with, and he had never been shy about reminding him of this fact when the shit was on his nerves for one reason or another (which he also found to be a frequent occurrence). In fact… it sometimes seemed like Percival treated Abernathy with an abnormal degree of disdain in order to compensate his one moment of kindness in the history of their strained relationship – a moment the old Percival would call weakness.

Momentarily, Percival wondered what Grindelwald’s perception of Abernathy had been.

Objectively speaking, Abernathy and Credence actually had a lot in common -- both men were shy, timid, and unnervingly meek.

 Both sought the approval of those around them -- particularly authority figures -- and the only real difference was that Abernathy’s upbringing had allowed him more opportunities to seek and achieve  that approval.

Yet one, Percival found endearing where he found the other annoying.

_It didn’t really make all that much sense._

And simultaneously, Percival felt he had found his answer to Abernathy’s question, speaking the words aloud as soon as the thoughts had crossed his mind.

_Uninhibited._

_Unrestrained._

Percival was merely honest.

“…Because,” he sighed deeply, “I need Credence’s last memories of me to be good ones. If there is a God up there, like he insists… I want him to greet his maker with the belief that we grew old together. Well, fine… I grew old and he caught up later. But I want him to think he died nowhere near _this_ young,” Percival waved a hand over Credence’s withered and weakened form.

He paused and shook his head sullenly, trying not to choke on his own emotions as they seemed to well up like obscurus smoke in his throat, ”I wanted him to have still moved on after me… to find some degree of peace and normalcy, and to die of old age in a much more comfortable bed. And frankly Abernathy, I just _can’t_ risk the possibility that his last clear memory of me was one of him lying in this bed, while I conjured those restraints around him, too cowardly to look him in the eye as I did it. I can’t handle the thought that after all the progress I’ve made with that boy; his last memory of me was one associated with excruciating pain.”

Percival spoke with endearing contemplation, with the tone of someone recounting intimate memories at a funeral, “He was so uncertain of me when he first moved in with me, so worried I was going to treat him like Grindelwald did. He was terrified of me, in truth. He feared that I might reveal what little kindness I did show him to be a farce -- and strike him at any given moment. Just like _he_ did.”

He bit his bottom lip, literally biting back a sob, “I can’t get the image of how he stared at me after the restraints came around him out of my mind. I can’t imagine how scared he was, how he probably thought that at last, I was still betraying him after he had finally lent me some small degree of undeserved trust. I just cannot accept that I may have confirmed all his worst fears about me, and that’s what he could die remembering. I refuse to be the monster under his bed after all, Abernathy… the monster everyone else views me as. I refuse… and that is why.”

A small hiccup that was the ghost of that repressed sob surfaced as he finished speaking, and it came out like a miserable sort of moan.

Trying to assess his reaction, Percival could not help but find some pleasure in the fact that he had at least gotten the clerk to halt his writing hand, as Abernathy eyed him with careful scrutiny. It seemed he had shocked his subordinate into momentary silence, and it was something both old and new Percival could appreciate. And then Abernathy did respond, and Percival found himself surprised at the personal touch to his reply.

He also noticed that the trusty quill had suddenly vanished.

“Mr. Graves, forgive me, but… I just don’t understand,” Abernathy spoke slowly, cautiously, “ _Why_ do you care about this boy so much? It’s not really any of our business who you care about and why, and don’t get me wrong… I am happy for you that you seemed to have found someone you genuinely love and all that. But Seraphina is waiting on you to make an unbreakable vow in a few hours, you are _literally_ throwing away your life… and no matter what you think of our personal opinions of you, sir, it _will_ affect this entire organization no matter which way you look at it. With all due respect, sir, this doesn’t even seem like love anymore… from what you’re telling me, this is pure insanity, rooted from guilt.”

And to that, Percival only shrugged.

“Perhaps it is, Abernathy,” He turned back to Credence, his hand moving to stroke lovingly at every inch of skin that Percival could reach (publicly at least), “Maybe we were both just crazy after all…”

Perhaps Percival imagined it – but after he had turned back to the boy, he could swear he saw the corners of Credence’s lips twitch slightly: a phantom smile peering out from the brink of nothingness.

Percival felt his heart swell with longing, and he wondered what memory the boy might be seeing in his mind’s eye…which detailed dream manufactured by magic.

And oh, how Percival yearned to join him in that personal and unholy version of heaven. Maybe -- if there was a God -- he could do just that soon. Percival could only hope that Credence would not be too lonely as he waited.

“The fact is, Abernathy,” he found himself admitting even though Abernathy had yet to respond to his last statement, “I couldn’t explain to you why I fell in love with someone half my age, some who I’ve never gave more than a second glance to before Grindelwald came along. It’s not an insult towards you… I know for certain that if I got a time turner right now, traveled to the past, and insisted to my former self that I would be doing all this, I would have probably had myself executed for being an imposter… and a poor one at that. I would have never understood, no matter how I explained it.”

Percival straightened himself, turning around to fully face Abernathy at last. He was completely aware of the way his own eyes were red from sorrow and exhaustion, and considered a sign of delayed personal growth that he was allowing a colleague to see him this way.

“I think it’s just one of those things where you have to see it to believe it. And when you do see it, you’re probably going to look like a damn idiot to everyone around you… but that doesn’t stop you from loving or wanting it any less.”

Abernathy opted not to speak, but dropped his own gaze -- clearly at a loss as to what he could say to that.

Percival didn’t blame him… he knew how melodramatic he sounded, but he had also come to his own epiphanies about his emotions, the invisible deities he had spent most of his adult life avoiding.

The falsified memories had been his last attempt to communicate to Credence all those emotions that he should have expressed when they had had the time, the chance.

And not only lust (although don’t get him wrong, the sex was amazing), but the kind of unabashed care, companionship, and affection that the boy had spent his life being deprived of – the things that had left voids which Credence had perhaps sought to fill through imaginary friends or multiple personalities.

He wanted show Credence the approval he had so desperately sought from Grindelwald -- who rewarded his eagerness with manipulation and betrayal.

If one of Percival’s last acts on this earth could be to make it so that he could deviate from Grindelwald’s impersonation – on that on the very least --- Percival supposed that the thought did bring him a sense of peace.

And if that was selfish, then so be it.

Sometimes… selfish was okay.

Percival knew that all too well – he only wished someone would have taught Credence that lesson at some point along that way. He wished even more that that person could still be him.

Abernathy stood suddenly, and Percival was broken out of his reverie.

The clerk inched closer to where Percival stood, and instinctively Percival moved to cover Credence with his body as the squirrely man approached. The protective motion caused him roll his eyes, but Abernathy didn’t comment on it.

“Here… there might be some things of interest to you in these notes,” Abernathy still didn’t quite look up at Percival as he handed over a lengthy sheet of paper. Both sides of it were covered in messy, chicken scratch handwriting, the polar opposite of Percival’s own elegant penmanship, “Obliviate me in a few minutes, and if Seraphina asks, I guess… just say I lost them. Can’t rat on what I don’t remember.”

Percival took the page and folded it, tucking it away in a back pocket.

He was taken aback by the gesture… but he was also sincerely touched.

Perhaps -- even in the worst case scenario -- Percival could greet death believing he had convinced just _one_ more soul of his emotional authenticity.

On the other side of the medical ward’s door, there was a knock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely random note: my obsession in from the original HP series was Draco Malfoy. 
> 
> I love Credence, but compared to all my other obsessions, he's kind of a crybaby and irl I poke fun at that all the time (not that he doesn't have reason to cry, honestly). 
> 
> This morning over breakfast, I'm looking at Gradence fanart, and my husband shakes his head dramatically and (teasingly) goes, "If only Malfoy could see you now, all obsessed with this dude whose crying all the time. What would he think?!?"
> 
> And I got to thinking and god damn... I'm not one for time travel plotlines, but I think Malfoy totally would eat Credence alive. I would actually be really interested in seeing how an interaction between those two would play out.
> 
> Not well, I'd imagine.


	17. Nevermind

 Percival tried to seem unfazed as he knelt and locked arms with Seraphina. It was an attempt at confident body language that fooled no one, not even himself.  

The typically vacant conference room was filled with witnesses and looky-loos, colleagues and employees Percival had known for years. Some of them still watched him with silently pleading eyes, wordlessly begging him to put an end to this madness.  

Seraphina -- Percival knew -- was never going to be the one to call this off. 

She had always expected Percival to back down – and even now she looked upon him with challenge, daring him to actually go through with this, just to prove that he wouldn't. 

But even if he did -- Percival thought bitterly -- Seraphina would more likely watch him perish than admit she was wrong.  

And Percival didn't fault her for that -- Seraphina  _always_ been a fiercely proud woman for as long as he had known her. Percival was sure she would not have achieved half the things she had if she were any less confident. In their youths, Percival had formed a bond with the woman because he had been the same way in many aspects.  

Those same aspects hadn't changed until Gellert Grindelwald had come along, and the bastard had turned everyone's world upside down.  

And now Percival suddenly found that he had someone to fight for.  

Abernathy, their assigned Bonder, stood back with his wand in hand. He still appearing somewhat dazed from recent obliviation... but of course, only Percival would notice that.  

A paper floated by his head -- suspended in the air all on its own as a quill jotted down notes on it's face without a hand to guide it.  

It seemed as though damn near everyone in the room was operating at a snail's speed, perhaps all of them giving the Director adequate time to change his mind like everyone seemingly expected/wanted him to.  

And when he did not, Percival didn't miss the tone of pure disbelief in Abernathy's voice as he stepped forward to perform the incantation at long last. 

"Alright then I guess.." Abernathy muttered to no one in particular, "...I guess we'll get this show on the road."  

Percival felt the tip of Abernathy's wand tap gently on the top of Percival's forcibly steady hand. He stared at the slender point of it, unwilling to look up at Seraphina, or Abernathy, or anyone else for that matter. On his forearm, he could feel Seraphina's grip increase painfully hard.  

Seraphina began to speak, her voice unwavering. 

"Do you, Director Percival Graves,  _swear_ on your life that should Newt Scamander not succeed...." 

 _Percival..._  

Seraphina's voice suddenly seemed to fade mid sentence. 

Simultaneously, Percival heard a different voice come more into focus, as though the speaker were talking right into his ear from inches away.  

And for once, it wasn't the nagging, metaphorical voice of logic that seemed to impede him at every turn – truth be told, he had not heard  _that_ voice pipe up for some time now.  

"….eradicate the obscurus..."  

 _Percival._  

While he could still hear bits of Seraphina's words – like an echo from the other end of a long tunnel – the bodiless voice was still increasing in volume, crying out his name with desperate sense of urgency.  

And Percival knew it was not the voice of his Auror persona -- that analytical side of him that has served him as both a blessing and a curse.  That guy turned in his resignation letter a long while back --  frustrated and unwilling to go down with this sinking ship.  

"...Percival Graves, can you hear me?"  

 _Percival!_  

Ah... yes.  

It was neither his voice of reason, nor his logic -- nor the vengeful beast, nor did the voice belong to his formerly evasive conscience.  

It was not the phantom of his imposter.  

It was not a manifestation of the insomnia that plagued him for over a week, unhelpful as that was. 

It was neither imaginary friend, nor a symptom of his seemingly growing insanity.  

Percival knew:  

It was Credence.  

Percival abruptly let go of Seraphina's arm, who was so surprised by the sudden movement that she had little time to react as Percival suddenly dashed out of the room -- practically bulldozing through a parting crowd.  

Behind him, Percival could hear shouts and the echo of distantly half-screamed questions, but still he kept running. He sprinted with surprising energy, not even bothering to look back over his shoulder. He knew people would see it as mutiny -- maybe cowardice --  but right now was not the moment to care.  

Credence was calling him --- and Percival  _knew_ it. 

Percival wasn't even sure  _how_ he knew it, but still... he was certain. 

It wasn't even just the disembodied voice. Somehow, Percival could feel Credence's beckoning like a low vibration in his bones.  

He could feel it in his flesh -- like the maddening itch of a deeply seeded mosquito bite.  

The summons reached out to the core of his very soul, and his body responded to it without hesitation.  

Percival wasn't sure if he could have fought it, even if he had tried. And he was even proud to say that no part of him – conflicted  and at odds though his personas often tended to be – seemed to want to fight it.  

They all seemed to agree on this one thing, and they all yearned for the same person.  

Percival burst through the doors of the medical ward, and low and behold: 

In the same bed where he had last seen a near corpse, Credence was sitting upright – a pink flush to his cheeks and the sparkle of  life returned to his eyes. He looked at Percival, and as the older man had burst into the room, Credence even allowed himself a weak smile.  

At first, Percival could not bring himself to acknowledge Tina and Newt although they stood in the opposite corner of the room -- he rushed to Credence with tunnel vision, still unsure if he was dreaming or not. 

Percival reached out and cupped both sides of Credence's face firmly, feeling skin that was suddenly cool from lack of fever.  

"Credence..." Percival whispered breathlessly, his hoarse voice like the gasp of a atheist witnessing God himself, "My boy... what happened to you?"  

Credence seemed to give it a moments thought. He still sounded hesitant as he answered, his voice croaky with disuse, "I really don't know, Percival."  

Percival could not restrain a happy laugh, his emotions experiencing such a dramatic flip that it ached from whiplash. And as painful as that may sound, it was a wonderful feeling.  

"You called me Percival," Percival stated dumbly, still reveling in the joys of his immense relief.  

"Of course I did," Credence looked at him quizzically, "What else would I call you, silly?"  

"What is the last thing you remember, Credence?" Percival asked him then, trying to stay focused on understanding the situation.  

Behind him, he could hear footsteps approach in as whoever had cared to follow him from the scene of his incomplete vow finally  caught up.  

The younger man's face flush intensifying a degree, Credence look thoughtful as he recalled, "I thought we were at the beach... and I... you... the necklace."  

Credence opened one of his palms, and in it Percival was surprised to find that he actually did hold a necklace. 

 A  small, simple thing on a black string that had a dark gemstone at it's center; it was not quite the same necklace he had given Credence in the falsified memory. 

However, Percival now remembered the fact that he had --in fact -- given Credence a necklace before after all.  

* * *

 

 _"Stay out of trouble," Percival had once warned_ _Credence firmly._  

 _It had been shortly after_ _Credence had begun to hallucinate, manifest imaginary friends, lose his damn mind – whatever you wanted to call it._  

 _A lot less concerned at the time_ _, Percival still got ready for another stressful work day, only able to think about how this kid was adding even_ _more worries to his plate._  

 _"I'll be fine, I'm teaching Violet how to play hopscotch," Credence had answered matter-of-factly, and it only served to make Percival even more irate._  

 _"No, you really ought to at least try to get out of the house today," Percival grunted back_ _as he picked up his trademark scarf from the coat hanger and wrapped it around his neck._  

 _Really, it could have been any old thing._  

 _But_ _the necklace that had been a gift from a second cousin he barely talked to was merely the first thing to catch his eye. He had noticed Credence had already taken a liking to it before, catching the boy stroking at it with curiosity when Credence thought Percival was not looking._  

 _Percival had thought it was rather ugly, anyway._  

 _In a swift motion, Percival enchanted it and tossed it to Credence, who caught it and examined the cheap jewelry with a strange kind of wonder._  

 _"Use that to call me if you get into a pickle. Just grip it tight and I should hear you," Percival nodded awkwardly as he showed himself out the front door, "Well, I'll be off then. Be good my boy and again,_ _stay out of trouble."_  

 _And then of course --_ _while Credence hadn't taken his advice on that particular day – the boy had gone_ _on to kill a Graphorn the following day and the rest was history._  

* * *

 

It must have been what Credence had meant as he was apologizing to Percival.  This necklace – small and insignificant in his memory – must have been of great importance to someone as sentimental as Credence -- and it's what the boy had been babbling about the first time he had visited that awful jail cell, Percival realized guiltily.  

He played the memory of that conversation again in his head, and Percival asked, "I thought you said you lost this?"  

"I thought I did too..." Credence said with hint of glee in his tone, "… but I guess I forgot that I had just left it in my pocket." 

He grinned sheepishly, evidently embarrassed at his own error. Percival could not help but find it adorably naïve that Credence would find that a concern at this moment, when he literally just emerged from the brink of death.  

"Mr. Graves," Scamander cleared his throat, "A word?"  

Percival looked up at Scamander.  

He and Tina had kept a respectable distance, perhaps trying to give Credence and Percival some space. But Scamander still carried a rather serious demeanor, and while all Percival wanted to do was bring Credence home with him and possibly never leave again, he knew that even with Credence seemingly in good health, they still had quite a mess to clean up and many unanswered questions to sort through. 

And so, Percival forced himself to leave Credence's side - but not before planting a very firm and very public kiss on Credence's forehead before he stepped away.  

As he followed Scamander to the opposite end of the room, he could see Seraphina, Abernathy, and Washington all standing by the door, watching.  

Percival wondered why they didn't speak up or approach.  

Perhaps they were just as surprised and intrigued by the turn of events as the rest of them. Either way --  he wasn't about to complain about the lack of intervention.  

When they got as far as they really could go from the beds while remaining within the medical ward, Percival turned to Scamander, leaning in close as he whispered.  

"What happened?"  

"Well, um..." Scamander frowned, his expression thoughtful, "It really is the strangest thing. We came in to prep him for our little operation, and he was already sort of better. About 20 minutes later, he was awake and..."  

"...and?" Percival pressed him impatiently, overwhelmingly on edge. 

Every part of him was restless to get back to Credence's side as quickly as possible, ecspecially within MACUSA'S walls.  

"...well," Scamander suddenly looked accusing again, his eyes slightly narrowed, "Credence does seem fine physically... but he's now recalling things that I don't think have ever actually happened. At one point, he started yammering on about how you two were getting married."  

Percival swallowed hard, "Yes, well, considering the poor prognosis I  _may_ have given him a few falsified memories in order to distract him from his pains."  

Scamander cocked an eyebrow at him, "I see."  

"I guess I may have to set a few things straight, then..." Percival sighed. 

"Hmm, yes, you might want to do that. However.. " Scamander considered, but a second later a subtle smile crept into the chapped pair of lips, "...that  _may_ answer a few things about the unexpected recovery." 

"What do you mean?" Percival asked, but he looked over his shoulder at Credence as he asked, much more interested in how the boy was doing in the present.  

"Well, it explains the confusion, obviously," Scamander explained, "But if the obscurus is a manifestation of cumulative hardship and painful memories,  _perhaps_ those new memories you implanted inside his mind -- artificial though they may have been – somehow filled a sort of void.  _Maybe_ that’s why he's better -- they somehow served as kind of a prosthetic for a missing limb. There have been stranger miracles achieved through the powers of unconditional love and sacrifice, honestly."  

Percival scoffed, unable to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at such a sentimental theory – if you could even call it that.  

"Are you  _actually_ suggesting I cured him through the power of  _love_?" 

Scamander shrugged, "Love, endearment, compassion, whatever you want to call it... would it really matter what cured Credence? As long as he  _is_ cured, no matter the source... I believe we should just count our blessings, Mr. Graves."  

"So..." Percival looked back at Scamander, understanding finally sinking in, "...what you're implying, Scamander, is that I  _shouldn't_ tell him that the memories were fake."  

"If he truly believes them... which appears to be the case... honestly Mr. Graves... I wouldn't risk it." 

Scamander and Percival both looked at Credence this time, who was looking after Percival like a lovesick puppy dog.  

It really wasn't much different from the way Credence had always gazed at Percival, but Percival had to admit that he looked like a  _slightly_ less miserable puppy dog at the very least. 

Percival grimaced as he mused:  

If Seraphina didn't kill him after all, Percival had best start stocking up on proper beach attire.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering:
> 
> No, the story is not over.   
> Granted, it's almost over -- just not quite yet.   
> We have loose ends to tie up.


	18. Violet

Two years later, Percival  and Credence found themselves enjoying a meal of steak and fine wine by the southernmost shores of Florida. 

It was one of many stops in their own personal "tour of the states".  

Across from Percival, Credence now wore a much more dazzling necklace -- the quality of it significantly more suited for Percival's sweet prince.  

A classy silver chain led down to a large amulet -- an oval shaped diamond that sparkled and shined, even the slightest of light. Percival had enchanted this necklace to serve the same purposes as the uglier trinket that had long ago been returned to his distant cousin, who did seem rather disproportionately upset that Percival had finally sent it back.  

Really – Percival felt his cousin should have been glad that he bothered to owl it back to him at all, rather than throwing it in the trash like it's price value warranted.  

Perhaps, Percival had figured, it may have been of sentimental significance to somebody.  

Of course, there was no wand that Credence currently possessed. And unlike the necklace, a wand was not something that Percival could have made up to Credence by laying down a lot of money. 

Seraphina -- in rare show of the president's own humanity – had not only agreed to let them live, but had allowed Credence to remain within the magical community as a squib, granted that he no longer presented any threat to the overall population.  

Percival -- however -- was promptly demoted back to his former Auror status. 

It was better than losing his job or his life all together, but Percival had to admit that he was still infuriated by the satisfied smirk on Tina Goldstein's face that lasted for hours on the day of the announcement.  

Andrew Rosario was promptly promoted as Percival's replacement – and Percival had to admit that having to take orders from a less experienced Auror was a slow and painful punishment all on it's own.  

Daily, Percival had to remind himself that he needed to keep his job --- since he now had more than just himself to support and nurture.  

Unfortunately, with many of the falsified memories that had saved Credence once upon a nightmare, there had been no avoiding the inevitable: confessing that the bulk of it was a lie.  

Credence would have figured out that he never went to Ilvermorny. It was only a matter of time before he knew that he didn't meet the faceless schoolmates Percival had conceived as his friends. The boy was smart enough to deduce that he had not excelled in transfiguration, like fuzzy memories had led him to believe.  

He didn't have an owl, or a broomstick with which Credence always struggled to mount.  

Percival wasn't sure what desperate, wishful thinking led them to believe that they ever could make Credence believe otherwise.  

When Credence seemed to be at a stable point in his recovery, Percival had had to finally bite the bullet and confess his sin.  

He had explained that they had  _all_ been worried he would not make it, and that Percival had only wanted to send Credence off with comforting thoughts. And to Percival's relief, Credence did not take the news all that badly, his empathy and understanding only serving to remind Percival why he had fallen so hard for the boy.  

Then again -- there  _were_ still certain memories that Percival had failed to dispute. 

Christmases together, wine tastings, sightseeing at Ilvermorny – Percival left intact those sort of memories that created no physical proof of occurrence, yet at the same time turned out to be some of the most memorable landmarks in the overall journey of a loving relationship.  

"Percy, this wine is amaaazing," Credence gushed across from him in the present, cradling his wineglass and gazing upon the half drunk blood red liquid adoringly. Percival grinned at the boy, whose hair had grown to exceed the regal beauty of his own predictions.  

Credence was even more breathtaking than any conjured illusion, molded from intimate fantasies.  

"Cheers, my boy," Percival purred at him as he lifted his own wine glass, tapping it against Credence's with a faint clink.  

Credence looked at him with the mischievous twinkle that his eyes always seemed to hold when he was just the right amount of buzzed. Amongst that twinkle, Percival could also find genuine affection, love, endearment, fondness, and yes:  

Validation.  

Perhaps there were still many things that were wrong and unethical --even unhealthy -- about their relationship.  

There was certainly no homosexual marriage in either wizarding world or non, and they knew full well that they could do nothing to convince those around them to be accepting or even comfortable with their love for one another.  

Yet in Credence, Percival had found an acceptance of his own identity. And in Percival, Credence had found comfort and protection simultaneously. 

For both -- it was a newfound reason to live.  

* * *

 

As for the notes that Abernathy had handed to Percival on the morning of Credence's awakening, Percival would not be shy about admitting that he never actually read them.  

For with Credence back in stable health, both mental and physical, Percival quite frankly no longer cared about anything else – much less the tepid and monotone observations of Joseph Abernathy.  

He had found the folded up paper when he had reached into his pocket and finally remembered it  was even there, tossing it into the sandy shore of a beach in Manhattan, assuming it would be washed away by the tide.  

It is not far from that same spot where a small girl plucked it from its shallow grave, unfolding it with curiosity.  

With Credence and Percival dining miles away -- blissfully ignorant of the discovery of this artifact from such a significant event in their relationship's history --- the child made an attempt at deciphering the jagged, messy penmanship by the bright light of the full moon.

 

* * *

 

 

**MAGICAL CONGRESS OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA OFFICIAL MINUTES REPORT**  

 **AUTHOR** : Joseph Abernathy, H.W.P, M.S.O  

 **MEETING DATE AND TIME** : 12/3/26 1:30 PM 

 **MEETING DURATION** : 1/2 an hour 

  

 **MEETING SUBJECT:**  Grindelwald interrogation, interrogation #11 

 **MEETING ATTENDEES:**  Joseph Abernathy (self, interviewer), Seraphina Piquery (president), Gellert Grindelwald (detainee, interviewee) 

 **RELATIONSHIP OF POSITION TO MEETING SUBJECT** : Substituting for Director Percival Graves as interrogator as the director has been indisposed 

 **SUMMARY OF MEETING:**  

1:30 PM – nurse Annalise Beaumont administers Veritaserum to the detainee, Gellert Grindelwald, tilting the vial into his mouth in full view of the President and myself.  

1:35 PM – After given adequate time to make sure the potion has set in, we begin the interview. I ask Mr. Grindelwald to state identifying information about himself in order to confirm that the potion is working correctly as is standard protocol. Mr. Grindelwald appears fully cooperative, which is satisfactory confirmation enough, in my own opinion. 

1:37 PM – Today, we continue to press Mr. Grindelwald for information regarding associates and connections potentially residing in the United States, including but not limited to the Kennedy's, a Mr. Allan Marsh, one Mr. Albert Einstein, and the Anderson family. He can only confirm relations with the Kennedys, who aided him by harboring Mr. Grindelwald upon his initial arrival in the states.  

1:38 PM – Mr. Grindelwald mentions a few more names that could be of interest, such as Allison Montgomery, Bailey Gretchens, and Ross Ballard. Will need to ask scheduling to arrange some interviews.  

1:40 PM - I ask Mr. Grindelwald if the name Violet means anything to him. Seraphina intervenes/is confused by the off-script question, but I clarify with her that it is something I had only thought to ask now.  

P.S.  Let the record show that this question was asked to satisfy by my own personal curiosity and was not written or authorized by any other personnel.  

Mr. Grindelwald confirms the name is of significance. 

1:42 PM – I ask Mr. Grindelwald to describe the extent of his relationship with said individual. He states that Violet was the name of a child that he once sired (implied non consensually) through a female associate, now deceased. He claims to not remember the woman's name.  

1:44 PM – I ask Mr. Grindelwald if he has any knowledge as to what former obscurial Credence Barebone might know about the existence of this child. ~~Creepily, he smiles.~~   

Mr. Grindelwald states that he had allowed Credence Barebone to bond with the child, knowing that Mr. Barebone had a fondness for children. ~~Almost sentimentally,~~ Mr. Grindelwald recounts that Violet had been sort of a pseudo child between Mr. Barebone and himself in happier times, although the child was largely used as further bait to tempt Mr. Barebone into cooperating.   

1:47 PM – I ask Mr. Grindelwald what became of  the child. Mr. Grindelwald explains that after a particularly violent disagreement between himself and Mr. Barebone, he utilized the imperious curse in order to force Mr. Barebone into murdering the child.  

Unaware of the existence of a mind control spell, Mr. Barebone did not fault Mr. Grindelwald for the incident, believing it happened as a result of his own uncontrolled magic.  

1:50 PM –  President Piquery reminds me that we are getting off subject. I acknowledge this, and change the subject back around to the unexplained explosion in California that has been dominating No-Maj headlines. Mr. Grindelwald informs us that although he cannot take direct responsibility, he is well acquainted with the mastermind of the attack but stops short of listing names.  

1:52 PM – I begin to ask for the names of these acquaintances, however President Piquery interrupts to remind us that I have an emergency stand up at 2. After some discussion, the President and I agree that the details of Mr. Grindelwald's hand in the California incident will have to be ironed out at the next round of questioning. 

1:53 PM – We inform Mr. Grindelwald that his next interview is scheduled for 12/5/26. ~~Hopefully, Director Graves will be of sound mind again by this time, because I am really paid nowhere near enough for all this bullcrap. Seriously, can I a raise for just filling in? Because christ on a cracker... the directors job is no joking matter. No wonder he's lost it~~. Meeting is adjourned.  

 **MEETING CONCLUDED. REPORT ENDS.**  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much thanks to all who commented/bookmarked/kudos'ed.
> 
> If you are confused at all -- yes, the necklace that Credence had held onto prior to the ending may or may not have been the resurrection stone, and Violet may or may not have been Grindelwald's dead kid (sort of). 
> 
> All of that being said, this story completely took on a life of its own and didn't go in the direction that even I had thought it would. 
> 
> Initially, this was supposed to be more of a fic revolving around some very painful experiments done on the obscurus.   
> Alternate ending was that since Newt refused to put the obscurus back in Credence, Percival went ahead and stole the obscurus that was in Newt's suitcase and tried to put that into Credence instead, and shit just kind of goes from there but quite frankly that would have probably just made this story way longer than it already is and I can't really say I would have even known where it was going sooo...
> 
> We're going with the happy ending...sort of. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm going to figure out Of Freaks and Fallacies next, and I may or may not having a thing coming up with WaywardGraves so umm... see y'all around? :)

**Author's Note:**

> come chat carryonmyobscurialson.tumblr.com/


End file.
